


Tea for a Scripturient

by ab2fsycho



Series: The Candle Cult [3]
Category: The Candle Cult
Genre: ANGST HAS ARRIVED, Beach fun, Drinking, Gen, Shenanigans, eating babies, just fun stuff, leaving gifts, minor theft, please be careful things are getting heavy here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 22,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of forum friendly stories where Tea hangs out with various cultists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Let the Giant Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea gets into some Long Island Iced Teas as opposed to his usual stash.

“I got this feeling on a summer day when you were gone.”

“Is anyone gonna stop him?”

“He’s too big to be stopped.”

“I crashed my car into the bridge. I watched, I let it burn!”

“Did he break up with someone?”

“That would require him having a life outside of the cult.”

“I threw your crap into a bag and pushed it down the stairs.” Chronic snickered as she and Tapi watched the giant fall down the stairs unceremoniously, laughing the whole way down as he hit his head on a step in the middle and wound up lying almost upright on the bottom steps. He stared at the ceiling, face red and laughing loudly with flashing eyes as he sang out, “I crashed my car into the bridge,” before practically shouting, “I DON’T CARE! I LOVE IT!”

“The question is, is he actually drunk this time?” Chronic asked.

“Might be just high on that Darjeeling garbage again,” Tapi declared.

“No. He wouldn’t sing in front of people. Ever.”

“How do you know?” Tapi stared at the other woman quizzically.

“Have you ever heard him sing before?”

Tapi didn’t argue. Instead she rolled her eyes and took her leave. “Deal with him. I don’t have the patience.” She left the room, grumbling about dumb giants and missing buttons as Chronic stared on.

She was just wondering if she should just use her magic and force him to the couch when, as if on cue, Problem walked in with her hands rubbing together. Ash followed quietly behind her, looking just as curious. “I was told one of the babies were drunk. Where is the drunk baby?”

Tea lurched upright onto his feet, stumbling slightly as he pointed an unsteady finger at Problem. “I’m not a BABY!” He swatted the air, hand cupped like he was smacking someone. Only he didn’t come anywhere close to hitting someone and he almost fell on his face slurring out, “I’m sixty-eight!”

Ash giggled, moving over to the half skinwalker immediately and uttering, “Aw, poor Sweet Tea.”

“Someone needs a nap,” Chronic declared as she and Problem neared him as well.

“No!” Tea protested, sounding even more like a child.

“What are you gonna do about it, Sweet Tea?” Ash joked.

“I’ll hold my breath,” he snapped.

“The significance is lost when you don’t need to breathe, my friend,” Chronic said, patting him on the chest.

“Dear, what on earth possessed you to get this way?” Problem asked as she and her daughter took Tea’s arms reassuringly.

“And how much do you actually need to drink to get this drunk?” Chronic asked.

“Yeah, you’re huge. Was it the entire store?” Ash contributed.

He yanked his arms out of their grasp before pointing clawed fingers at both of them and singing, “Shut up and let me go!”

“Oh my goodness,” Problem covered her mouth, trying not to laugh at his random musical outburst.

“This hurts I told you so! For the last time you won’t—,” his eyes went wide and he started stumbling backwards.

One of Problem’s tentacles lurched out and wrapped around him, saving him from falling back against the wall as Ash openly laughed at him. Slowly, the three started walking him through the home. “Does he have a room here?” Problem asked.

Chronic shook her head. “I can take him somewhere safe. Where he won’t fall anymore, hopefully.”

“I warned you about stairs, bro,” he whispered before chuckling at himself again.

“Shhh, nerd,” Ash whispered, patting Tea’s stomach affectionately.

Problem sighed and made a small noise of upset. “Poor baby. Not even a hundred and homeless.”

Tea reached up then, ready to slip his hand into the folds of his coat. Both women stopped at the sound of skin tearing as he openly declared, “Home is where the heart is!” The next thing they knew, a lump of organ was being pulled from the chandelier’s chest and thrown across the room.

Before it flew out of reach (and into Ash’s hands, for that matter), Problem caught the heart with her tentacle. “No no,” she chided, taking the organ in her hand and shoving it back in his chest. He barely let out a gasp as Ash whined sadly at the missed opportunity to keep the organ. “You need that, dear.”

He made an obnoxious sound like steam blowing out of a gasket and shouted, “NAH!” Hand bloody, he stared at the liquid and started laughing again. “You could say you touched my heart.” He laughed at his own humor.

“I wanted to touch it,” Ash pouted.

“No, you know what happens when Tea doesn’t have his heart,” Problem reminded Ash.

Tea let out a loud whine before murmuring, “I don’t bite THAT hard! I just . . . nibble.”

“Better keep him here. He’s liable to end up dangling from a tree if left alone,” Chronic amended her earlier offer to take him someplace safe.

“To the couch it is. Shall we fix you some tea, dear?” Tea shook his head petulantly, nose scrunched as Problem started giggling at him. “You really are being a baby.”

“Are you going to put the baby down for an N-A-P, Problem?” Chronic asked, amused as they proceeded to walk him to the living room.

“I can spell!” Tea practically yelled.

“Why don’t you relax and serenade us some more, Tea? Your voice is lovely.” And it would probably keep him from being so damn stubborn.

Without fail, he chuckled and started singing Lady Gaga. Meanwhile, Chronic and Problem struggled to keep him lying down on the couch long enough to actually convince him sleep was a good idea. It took a cup of chamomile (which he fought off initially) and Ash sitting on his chest so he wouldn’t move to get him to go to sleep.


	2. Girls' (plus Tea) Day at the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea and a few ladies have some fun at the beach.

“Can the two of you come up every now and then and just pretend to breathe?”

Ash let out a loud whine, but reached into the water to pull Tea up by the scarf tied around his neck. When he did come up, he shook his head of the water and Ash said, “Mom’s being boring.”

Problem grimaced at the two, legs pulled up under her sweater as she sat right at the edge of the tide. Tea stood and walked onto the shore to join his elder, who was watching Ash and her human pet dive and splash in encroaching waves. Shirt and shorts clinging to his frame, he settled on the sand beside her. “If any of you get caught in a riptide, I can’t swim out to save you.”

Tea patted her arm. “I got this. Just point and I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” Problem said, affectionately ruffling his wet hair with a tentacle.

The next thing they heard was a scream tearing from Yin’s lungs. Both chandeliers jumped, but soon saw an antlered head rise up from the waves smiling and laughing at the human’s reaction. The chandeliers stilled as Yin yelled at the top of her lungs, “Stop grabbing that!”

“What’s Ash grabbing?” Problem uttered with mild concern.

“Her ankle,” Tea responded.

“Are you sure?”

“Saw her do it.”

“Of course you did.” Problem paused long enough to watch the two girls continue their play, then asked, “You’re not just saying that because you don’t think I can handle Ash grabbing someone’s butt, are you?”

Tea paused for a long time. “No?” 

She heard the question in his voice, then responded, “If you are, thank you. Because I really can’t handle that image.”

Tea nodded as Yin screamed again, antlers rushing around her like a shark’s fin. “Duly noted.”


	3. Sneaky Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The treasure gremlin makes their rounds.

Sneaky Presents

Tapi slid effortlessly through the kitchen in search of something, anything, that could satisfy the cravings she was having. It was not typical of her to seek nourishment outside her preferred treats, but it felt necessary for some odd reason this night. She opened and slammed the traitor’s tea cabinet, as if to pointedly say she didn’t need a bag of leaves soaked in water to make herself feel better. No, not all the time. She did the same to the refrigerator, filled with baked goods and home cooked meals by various cult members. Groaning, she wanted something. What? She did not know.

Something moved to her right and she flung out an arm of smoke and snatched it up off the counter. Expecting to catch a small creature of some sort, perhaps Ash’s Malvolio or a mouse, she was slightly displeased when she was not able to crush something living in her barely tangible palm. Well, she crushed something.

The cult leader eyed the packet full of semi-breakable pieces. Pop rocks. She glanced around, an eyebrow lifting as she searched for the candy’s owner. When she saw no one, she hummed slightly before glaring down at the treats once more. She did like sweet things. Hard candy was . . . delicious.

Sighing, she tore the top of the packet off with another smoke limb and started popping the rocks onto her tongue. Giving a pleased grunt, she proceeded out of the kitchen with her snack.

Behind the counter a gremlin rubbed their hands together at the acceptance of their gift.

\--

Ash stroked the raven’s feathers, the bird that had taken residence in the manor recently still not speaking to her but loving the attention she doted on him. “You’re so handsome,” she cooed to him, and he almost seemed to purr and smile at it, lifting his head into her hand. She ran her hands over his wings, running a finger under his beak and over his beard. “Such a handsome bird.” He made a few chirping sounds that resembled grumbles as she continued to stroke his feathers.

Then he cawed and flew off at the sound of shuffling. She gasped as his wings beat her antlers before he departed, then turned to glare at who had disturbed her current companion to the point he had left. She lost the glare as soon as she saw that no one was there. No one except . . . .

A severed hand.

Ash didn’t withhold the squeal of excitement that peeled from her lips, gathering up the appendage and cradling it to her chest like a doll. She glanced around again, wanting to thank the person who had left it. It didn’t occur to her that someone was missing their hand or that perhaps it wasn’t for her. Judging by its exsanguinated state, it would not be missed as the person it had belonged to could only be dead. It had to be for her otherwise it would not have appeared beside her so conveniently.

She would figure out who had left her this gift later. For now, she had to run it down to her dungeon and preserve it for later when she would add the bones and sinews to her collection.

The gremlin listened from around the corner, pleased to have made their friend smile so brightly.

\--

Princely snuck into the sleeping giant’s room, aware that he had been awake recently and reacquainting himself with the cult. Padding softly over to his bedside table, they placed something on it and swept out just as quietly as they could. Crouching near the doorway, they waited patiently and even tapped on the floorboards with their knuckles so the person would awaken and see that he had been left a present.

When Tea finally shifted, Princely heard the moan of a stretch and a hand against wood as the item in question was lifted off the nightstand. There was a long pause as Tea likely rubbed the sleep from his eyes, looking over the handmade pillow that likely fit in a single palm of the half skinwalker. Princely heard the movement of fabric against skin, the pillow turning in Tea’s hand as the giant read what was sloppily scrawled on the pillow. It was a small message, meant to assuage some of the guilt other cult members had seen plainly on Tea as soon as he’d woken and tried to get himself together.

Princely grinned as he heard Tea lie back down and curl up. They knew, they knew intrinsically, the giant was pressing the heart shaped pillow with a bandage around it to his chest. They knew the words ‘I forgive you’ had reached Tea as soon as they heard the half skinwalker sniff and rub at his eyes again.

The gremlin shuffled away from the room, rubbing their hands together once more and feeling more and more accomplished. It had been a while since they had handed out any gifts, even longer since so many had been accepted without question. They were ready to continue their own gatherings now that they had brought some livelihood back to some of their fellow cult members.


	4. Hotheads in a Barfight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimms and Aiden get in a fight in Jack Edwards's bar the Third Jackal.

“I’d hit that so hard.”

 

“Look here, you mint bastard!”

 

So drinking had been a terrible idea. Drinking among a bunch of people who were openly attracted to Tea was even worse. As soon as the demon (demon, right?) said something, Aiden was on the cultist like a spider monkey.

 

A drunk spider monkey.

 

His fist connected to Grimms’s cheek and he stumbled into the beast. Said beast stumbled back only a few steps before righting himself and planting a foot in Aiden’s gut. Aiden’s head spun as he fell back, hitting his head hard on the ground as the creature straddled him. He vaguely saw Grimms draw back a fist and threw up his arm to block before driving another punch into his stomach. Grimms let out a gust of air before slamming his hand down against Aiden’s ribs. Aiden arched up with a cry, hands flinging up to grasp Grimms’s head. Slamming his forehead against the cultist’s, he was dizzy from the impact. So was Grimms, however, the demon slumping slightly to the side. Aiden rolled him to his back and was about to wrap his hands around Grimms’s throat.

 

Then the fucker spoke again. “Ah, so you’re a top!” Aiden snarled and proceeded to break the cultist’s nose. He was about to start wailing on him when Grimms’s pained grin actually widened. “How does that work?”

 

“The fuck you talking about?” Aiden asked angrily.

 

“You’re so small, and he’s so,” he licked his lips, “big.”

 

Aiden’s eyes flared with fury as he went to drive another fist into Grimms’s nose, but he missed as the demon ducked to the side and out of his way. Howling in rage, he went to slam both fists into Grimms’s face.

 

Only to be shoved off and onto his side. Turning and trying to crawl back to his feet, Grimms flattened him out onto his stomach. “Get the fuck off!” he bellowed as Grimms held him down with a knee.

 

“Come on, calm down pup,” Grimms jested.

 

Aiden reeled at the nickname. “Suck it!”

 

“Nah, not today.” Aiden writhed, digging his fingers into the ground as he tried to get Grimms off of him. “Tea should get in on this action. Does he like it when you get fiery?”

 

“Wanna find out?” Aiden snapped.

 

Grimms was fucking laughing at him, he wanted to break his teeth. He felt the demon’s knee slipping off of him and waited to take advantage. “Really, you are fun. Do you realize that?”

 

Aiden saw an opportunity and flipped Grimms back off of him. Rolling out of the demon’s reach, he tasted his own blood and hissed. When had he busted his lip? Glaring at the cultist, he recalled being called small. Then he snorted and gave Grimms one of his winning grins. “I’m bigger than your rabbit, fucker.” He wondered how he’d feel if he spoke of Jinx the way Grimms spoke of Tea in front of him. “Rabbit screams can’t be too pleasant.”

 

Too much. That had been too much. How did he know that was too much?

 

Grimms had thrown him through a window.

 

Well.

 

That was one way to start a fight in the Third Jackal.


	5. A Day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy being Jack Edwards and Sarah Gris.

“You just come a little closer! Get over here, you punk!”

“Mr. Edwards?” Sarah asked as she came out from the back, tying the apron around her waist.

“Oh, now you don’t wanna fight? What’s the matter? Afraid of an old man?”

“Mr. Edwards?” Sarah reiterated with a sigh, first wiping down the counter of the bar before deciding to officially interrupt her boss.

“I’ll kick your ass, lad!” His accent was getting thicker the louder he yelled. “I’ll kick your mom’s ass—”

“Jack,” Sarah said as she dropped the rag.

“I’ll kick your buddy’s ass—”

“Jack,” she grew louder as she approached.

“I’ll kick your dog’s ass—”

“Jesus, Jack,” she was now truly exasperated and upon him.

“I’ll kick my own ass!”

“Jack!” Finally, Sarah yanked him down off his stool by his trousers. He fell from the window and landed flat on his ass on the floor of the bar. “We. Are. Opening,” she declared shortly.

He glared up at her as if she were the same perpetrator he had been yelling at. “I knew that!” he shouted as he pushed himself up off the floor.

“Really? Looked like you were trying to start a fight.”

“The neighbors called me an old man!” Though he was still shouting, his accent wasn’t quite as thick. She took a deep breath, allowing herself to calm down at the same pace as he did.

Then she dropped the bomb on him. “Mr. Edwards, you are an old man.”

Jack’s jaw dropped, and it was almost hilarious how offended he was. “You’re fired!”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’m your only waitress right now.”

Jack stared at her, still very much flustered over the argument he seemed to be having with himself. Whether he actually was fighting with a neighbor or not didn’t matter. It was over and he was starting to return to his normal, cheery, mellow mood.

Jack’s eyes didn’t leave her face as he reached off to the right to grab his top hat off the shelf. The flame atop the hat flickered and dimmed before reigniting as he seated the hat properly on his head. All the while he stared at her. Then, with a vindictive wrinkle of his nose, he responded, “You’re hired,” and stormed past her to continue getting ready to open the bar.

She smirked and rolled her eyes again. As far as bosses go, Jack Edwards actually wasn’t the craziest.


	6. Winter Warmup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee and Sinistro really shouldn't go out in the snow.

“What are you doing outside?” Tea asked Lee. There was three inches of snow on the ground already. It was night. They were on restriction. She was cold-blooded. The number of reasons for why she shouldn’t be outside could go on and on and on.

 

And still she managed to stare up at him with a lethargic, sad expression as a shivering finger pointed to the creature beside her, “I dared him to.”

 

Tea looked over to the boggart (or brownie, he wasn’t sure which anymore), whose normally sleek and streamlined body was now concealed by his black fur standing on end and giving him the appearance of a black, fuzzy ball with a tail, nose, and eyes. Tea could vaguely see his ears pinning as he scooped the nearly frozen Lee up and shoved her into his unbuttoned coat. “And where’s your girl?”

 

“Asleep,” Sinny answered in the accented voice of a British actor Tea didn’t recognize. “She questioned my honor,” he said of Lee, who was like a block of ice against Tea’s chest.

 

“And now you’re both going to get hypothermia,” Tea chastised as he scooped Sinny up as well. Closing his coat over them, he did his best to keep them warm until they were inside and he could place them by the fireside. “Jesus you two.”

 

Tea rushed them inside, bypassing the kitchen and Grand Stairwell to head straight for one of the closer common rooms. He was now chilly along with the two smaller cultists, shivering as he built up the fire and pulled a large throw off the back of one of the couches. Once he’d set it on the brick close to the fireplace, he began extracting Sinny and Lee from his coat. Sinny emerged easily, letting out a loud moan as he curled up by the fire and waited for his fur to flatten out once again. Pulling Lee out was a little more difficult, as she was reluctant to let go of his shirt and what little warmth he was still providing. Once he was actually able to set her beside Sinny, she clung to the much smaller creature and shivered. Sinny whimpered, shivering also as the much colder dragon wrapped around him and gave him no chance to escape her lack of warmth. “You’re k-k-killing me,” he whined in yet another unfamiliar voice. He was met with a pitiful groan from the dragon, and wound up lying still despite how frigid she was surrounding him.

 

Wrapping them up in a blanket, Tea left them to warm up as he elected to brew them a pot of tea. Selecting apple cinnamon tea for himself and Sinny, he chose to heat up some apple cider for Lee instead. She would fight him on any tea he had to offer, but surely she wouldn’t deny the equivalent of warm apple juice.

 

Carrying the three steaming mugs on a tray, he returned to the fireplace where he had left the frozen pair. There he found the two still shivering and curled around each other. There was no way they were getting warm without a warmer body, even with the fire. Sighing, Tea set the tray of tea and cider on the ground beside them and pulled off his coat. Dropping that on top of them as well, he gathered both to his chest once again and scooted close to the fire. Lee was . . . still freezing, but not a block of ice. Her surface temperatures were growing, so soon her internal should follow suit. Sinny was still puffed up, but not to the degree he had been earlier.

 

Wrapped in blanket and coat, Tea got as close to the fire as he dared and brought a warm mug up to rest at their covered back. Both let out shaky sighs and whimpers at the warmth he and the cup provided, Sinny’s ears perking up as he turned his half-lidded stare towards the steam rising up from the mug. “It’s tea,” Tea offered.

 

“It’s mine,” Sinny declared, abandoning cover to reach out and wrap as much of his body around the mug as he could. Tea chuckled lightly, giving the boggart the mug so that he could wrap him up again along with the tea.

 

Lee started to curl up with the burning mug as well, but as soon as she sniffed the steam she curled her lip and hissed. “Ew,” she griped.

 

Tea leaned carefully to the side so that he could give Lee her cider to cling to. “That better?” he asked. She curled around the cup and sniffed the steam, a smile crawling onto her face with a purr. With the two curled up around their own mugs, Tea held his own in his palm and quietly sipped.

 

It took some time for color to return to Lee’s cheeks, for Sinny’s fur to completely flatten out. It took the same amount of time for their mugs to stop steaming and for Sinny to start absently lapping at his tea with a long, scooping tongue. Lee at least made an attempt to drink her cider properly before just plunging her face into the cup and sucking in all she could reach. Both sighed loudly at the warming liquids.

 

Tea settled more on the floor, lying down once they were done with their drinks and resting his palm on their backs as the curled against each other once more. He didn’t remember dozing off, but when he woke up, they weren’t on his chest. Glancing around lazily, he blinked a few times and stretched under the throw and coat they’d left draped on him.

 

When he caught sight of them, they were curled up on a nearby couch. Sinny was in his much larger form, and Lee was clinging to his chest. Knees tucked against his stomach and her back, the boggart had both arms and his tail curled around the small dragon. His tail tangled with hers and their flames almost looked like they could be united.

 

Tea smiled, gathering up the cups and blanket before standing. Draping the throw over a nearby chair, he tucked his coat under his arm and quietly left the two to keep each other warm. Glancing out the window, he figured the snow was deep enough the doors to the cult were not going to open easily. Now that the two were warm and resting, he thought he could leave them alone and trust they won’t go out in the blizzard again.


	7. Stealing Sweets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amaya and Aren catch a thief.

Amaya left treats out for Aren in case he needed something sweet, which was quite often if she wasn’t mistaken. But when her small friend came to visit her that day, he gave her a quick signal to be quiet and follow him out of her forge. Her brow furrowed, she wasn’t quite certain how he expected her to be quiet with hooves like hers. However, she did what she could.

Aren was practically bouncing on his toes with excitement when they were partway to her living room. Making wild gestures, he told her to keep it down via hand motions. Then he gestured into the living room with both index fingers. Peering inside at where Aren was directing her attention, she didn’t see anything odd at first.

Then she heard it. The almost obnoxiously loud sounds of chewing.

Leaning closer, she caught sight of gigantic, black ears moving behind her coffee table with the occasional equally black palm reaching up and pulling plates of sweets closer to the edge of the table. She squinted as she glimpsed the tops of two very round, very yellow eyes. “What is it?” she whispered to Aren, not yet willing to charge the tiny being. It was only eating after all, and it wasn’t like she couldn’t get more food.

“I’m not sure,” Aren murmured back.

“Is it a cat?”

“I think it’s an aye-aye. It’s got the fingers.”

As they were speaking, she saw the flick of a tail up into the air. A very long tail with a flaming tip. “Whatever it is, it’s a cultist.”

“A hungry one.”

As the last of the sweets disappeared off the top of the table, the sounds of chewing faded. A few moments passed as the creature ducked under the coffee table.

And never emerged again.

When they went to check on it after a few moments, the thing was gone. Aren and Amaya stood there, eyes narrowed and features pinched. “Maybe if we bring out more treats, it’ll come back.”

“Do you think it means any harm?”

Amaya thought about it. “I’m pretty sure if it meant harm, it wouldn’t have just taken all of my cookies.”

“You have more cookies?!” The overexcited voice from behind them had Amaya and Aren both jumping out of their skin, a much taller version of the creature standing before them. Aren pressed himself to Amaya’s side out of shock, Amaya’s legs locking as she stood guard against the nine foot tall creature. The black furred creature’s ears flattened and his eyes took on an apologetic stare. “Oops.”

Oops indeed, Amaya thought. “What do you think you’re doing, sneaking around like that?”

The creature made a dismissive noise with his mouth. “Least I’m not sneaking in my own house.”

Though their eyes narrowed on one another, Amaya somehow knew she had found a snarky friend in this thief of sweets.


	8. Theft: Punishable by Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sinny steals the wrong thing from the wrong tenebra.

Prince was hiding in the shadows after having distributed their latest round of sweets to the tenebra. Tapi with her pop rocks, Ash with her random body parts, Tea with his tea, and so on and so forth. They were going through their inventory, about to go distribute their gifts to Leland and his designated loved ones when a noise caught Prince’s attention. Prince froze, then gathered up their supplies. They turned their head, making it appear as though they were looking around when really they were listening more intently. Something was moving in the shadowy place where they were currently hiding. What, they didn’t know.

 

They flung and arm out to the side, expecting it to hit something. When it only struck the wall, they hummed aloud to themself. Unseeing eyes narrowing in suspicion, they turned their head again. Shifting. Feet on the floor. There was definitely something there. Whatever it was was moving fast and light. Like them. They almost wanted to call out to it.

 

But it called out first. “How do you do it?”

 

Prince jumped out of their skin, face now turned towards what sounded like a much larger, much stranger creature than they’d expected. It felt taller than Tea. That didn’t seem possible. The only cultist taller than Tea that Prince knew was Leland. That was definitely not Leland standing over them. “What are you?”

 

It responded in a Disney voice. “Your worst nightmare.” Prince didn’t do anything. Just stood there, glaring through the dark. “Just kidding. I’m a boggart.”

 

Ah. Well, that explained. “What’s a boggart doing here?”

 

“Same thing you are, only less benevolent.”

 

Prince continued to glare. “Are you stealing the things I left out?”

 

“Only some.” There was a crunching sound. “Not all.” And a popping sound.

 

It had stolen Tapi’s pop rocks. “Those aren’t for you,” Prince uttered in aggravation.

 

“She’s an old hag, she doesn’t need ‘em.”

 

“That’s not the point. The point is they’re not for you.”

 

“She doesn’t deserve them.”

 

“That’s not the point!” Prince reached into their bag and pulled out their latest concoction. “Do it again and I’ll shrink you!”

 

“I can shrink myself, thanks.”

 

Prince nearly growled, reaching for another bottle, “Then I’ll turn you invisible.” It couldn’t very well get anyone’s attention while invisible, could it?

 

“Wow, that’s totally something I can’t already do.”

 

“Can you catch fire?”

 

There was a pause. “That one’s new.”

 

“Guess what?” Prince pulled out a bottle and proceeded forward while uncapping it. They were just going to warn the boggart, but it seemed the creature needed a lesson now. “Don’t steal from my friends.”

 

The creature started to run, but Prince managed to spray it with just enough that some of it was now in immense pain. They knew this based on the screams. Prince took a moment to roll on the floor laughing at the number of different ways a creature who mimics can shout in pain. Problem would be so disappointed, but at the same time find humor in their moment of sadism.

 

Leland and the others would receive their gifts a little late, they were laughing so much.


	9. The Little Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift to Mari.
> 
> Introducing her sona, a little thieving human.

Just a little more.

Just.

A little.

More.

Mari stuck her tongue out as she reached, balanced on the book shelf and poised to pull the book she knew wasn’t actually a book. It was hollowed out, filled with something. What? She intended to find out.  
She just knew it had to be good.

Grunting, her fingers were just brushing the spine. Nails dug into the material. Just a little more.

Just.

A little.

“Mari, what are you doing?”

Mari let out not a shriek, but a startled gasp as she fell backwards. It was a long way down, and the book tumbled after her. When she hit the ground she hit it hard, and the book landed on her stomach to boot. With the wind officially knocked out of her, she whimpered and looked up at the individual who had interrupted her theft.

It was Lee.

Of course it was Lee.

“Why’d you have to say anything?” she whined.

“Because that’s not yours.”

Mari stuck out her tongue petulantly. “I was just looking.” Sitting up slowly, she groaned from the fall. Holding her prize against her gut, she added, “I’ll put it right back.” If she didn’t like what she found inside.

Lee hissed lowly. It must be Tapi’s whatever it was. “You had better.”

Mari scoffed, then cracked open the book.  
All that greeted her was a clump of black feathers.

Glaring down at it for a good two minutes, Mari then picked up the book and heaved it to the side with a noise of disgust. “That was anticlimactic.”

“Put it back!” Lee proclaimed.

“Nah,” Mari said. “It’s not that important.”

She’d have better luck with Tea’s cabinet. Or even the various jars that lined the kitchen windows. Yeah. She would explore there next.


	10. Heartstrings: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you have an ability you shouldn't, and it belongs to someone who is not you, what do you do?

Paperwork was Tapi’s least favorite activity, but it was Tea’s favorite. It meant he got to sit and focus on scribbling things repetitively and not have to fully think about what he was doing. It was simple and tedious and boring. He happened to like simple, tedious, and boring.

He flipped a pencil between his fingers, studying what he was reading and writing erasable notes before going over them again in pen just to be sure he’d gotten them right. He was glaring at a piece of paper, filling out maintenance reports to send off for budget approval and other technicalities he didn’t particularly care for or have the knowledge to handle. When the door open, he didn’t look up. He simply continued filling out paperwork as a cup of hot tea was set in front of him by a bleached, clawed hand. “Your menace is at it again.”

Tea rolled his eyes. “If by menace you mean my boyfriend, his breaking shit is keeping me employed at the very least.”

He heard a snort, then looked up at Lola. Her ears drooped as she withheld a squeal. “You called him your boyfriend,” she explained.

Tea flushed purple. “Y-yeah?”

“It’s cute,” she declared.

Tea rolled his eyes and hid his fluster, burying himself in paperwork. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” He got unreasonably frustrated when he was called cute. And when he was sidetracked from his work. He appreciated the tea she had brought him, but he really wanted to get the paperwork done for the week. He couldn’t do that if he was fretting over what Aiden had done managed. Swiftly changing the subject from his cuteness to exactly what he wasn’t sure he was up for discussing, he dropped his pencil and picked up his pen. “What did he do this time?”

“Break a window.” Tea raised his eyebrows, tilting his head. Not the worst he’d ever done. “A stained glass window.” That . . . changed things a bit.

He let out a sigh of aggravation. “Goddammit,” he said aloud before leaning back in his chair. “I told him—”

“Not to. Yeah. He said.”

“Was he fucking—?”

“Drunk? Maybe. Could have been drunker.”

“Or sober,” he griped. “Jesus Christ, he’s gonna end up killing me.”

“You can’t die.”

“I know.”

“And his temper is your job security.”

“I know.”

“Hey, don’t get snippy with me. You said it.”

“I know!” Tea flung his hands out angrily, losing his temper more with the fact that he shouldn’t be losing his temper over this. Aiden was Aiden, and Lola was Lola. They were overprotective and sassy and prone to acting out if they thought he’d been done wrong. He loved them both, and they loved him. He should be so angry when they did things like pester or drunkenly avenge him.

He should also respond to the look Lola was giving him. Not him. His hand. She looked . . . .

She was stiff. Ears flat. Eyes wide. Her fur was standing in alarm.

She was terrified.

“T-Tea?”

He didn’t like how she stammered. What had he done? He’d raised his voice before. Usually she raised hers back, then they settled and calmed. He’d never seen her . . . scared. No, not since . . ., “Lola, what did I do?”

Her eyes dropped with his hand. He stood, and she looked away. She looked in the direction he’d flung his hand, but did not answer. He went to ask her again what he’d done, but . . . .

Her eyes were too focused on something to be staring into space.

He directed his gaze to what she was looking at and froze. His own eyes went wide and his heart hammered. Tethering a chair to the wall, which he hadn’t even heard (or felt) move, were . . . .

Bright.

Red.

Strings.

Both took on the visage of people fettered in place, staring blankly and fearfully at the strings keeping the chair up on two legs and against the wall. It hadn’t been that long since last seeing the strings. Barely six months.

The strings of a Puppet Master.

A Puppet Master who was dead.

And yet . . . .

Tea looked at his palm, then up at Lola. He felt ice in his veins. He was . . . he couldn’t have . . . could he have? Was it possible that he . . . ?

“Tea,” Lola said a little more firmly, her chest heaving obviously as she stared mortified at him, “explain?”

Tea shook his head. “I can’t.” He wished he could. He wished more than ever he could think of a reasonable explanation. He probably could, if he really thought about it.

But right then, he had to get his heart to settle and his mind to wrap around the fact that in his frustration, he had just wielded a weapon that should have exclusively belonged to those the same rank of his former Master.


	11. A Lively Trio of Eventiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three newcomers have settled in Eventide and taken a liking to the small town. Well . . . most of them.

“Get out of the hot tub,” Garlyn declared. Randal was going to cook himself from sitting in it too long. The bearded dragon man just looked at her, eyes narrowed as he lounged in the hot water. “It’s bad for you. Stop.”

“Take me back to Nevada,” he declared flatly.

“Take yourself back to Nevada,” Howl said, licking his paws clean as he sat on the table a few feet from them on the balcony. “I like it here.”

“It’s cold,” Randal argued.

“Exactly.” Howl’s fur puffed up as his green gaze pierced the aboriginal spirit. “I like the cold.”

“I like the heat.” Randal turned a gimlet stare on Garlyn. “I need it.”

She sighed, not saying anything before ambling back into their home. If Randal wanted to cook and the forest cat wanted to argue, she would let them.

Taking a seat in the kitchen, she stared at the assembly line of rodents on the countertop. “What are my little thieves doing?” They answered simply by looking up at her from what they were doing. From the look of it, they were trying to open the refrigerator. The gray and white dumbo Crepe was carrying a wooden spoon in her teeth towards the fridge, where the white mouse Algernon was guiding Slick the gray Slick Trick and brown Dark Tan on proper placement of the spatula in the crevice. The mice Brisby and Timothy road on the backs of the Siamese dumbo Bug and black Beans as they carried yet more utensils to the refrigerator door in hopes of somehow getting it open. The only rats who seemed innocent in this feat were up in the cupboard, Beastie, Creeper, and Pet Creepy all glancing down at the others. In fact, as they were all gazing up at her, the three in the cupboard all but declared with their eyes that they had had no part in this. “If you’re hungry, you know you can come get me, right?” Moving over to the fridge, she pulled all of the kitchen utensils lodged in rats’ teeth and the door and put them in the sink. Then she opened the door to the refrigerator and watched as all eight rats and three mice lined up in at her feet and side. She pulled out the milk, cheese, bread, and tomatoes she had sliced this morning. Setting them all on the kitchen table, she watched where she stepped so she didn’t accidentally crush one of her familiars.

At the table, she laid out nine slices of bread topped with cheese and tomato on small paper saucers. Once they were lined up, she poured out the milk into a low dish. She didn’t even wince as she felt her familiars climbing up her leg like a ladder to get to the meal she had prepared for them. As soon as they were all on the table, they started munching loudly. Each rat got its own plate, and the mice were small enough they were content to share. She topped their bread with a little extra anyhow. Turning every now and then to lap up the milk, her familiars feasted.

Sitting down again with them, she slid one of her books closer to herself and cracked it open to read. Making a list in her head, she needed to go out and get more heat lamp bulbs for Randal’s room. She also needed to get more tuna. Howl was running low. In the meantime, she would sit and read while her rats and mice ate. Whatever they left, she would put in the fridge for later. 

Randal and Howl could wait. At least her much smaller friends were easier to please.


	12. Running Amok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pair of boggart and brownie twins lay waste to the Candle Cult library.

“No!” Sly shouted, climbing onto his twin’s head as Ayla sat on a capsized shelf of library books. They lounged with one book in their hand, tearing pages out and flinging them into the air. Sly tried in vain to catch the pages. “Stop it! You’re making a mess!”

One well placed jump and Sly had launched himself off of Ayla, Ayla making a very loud noise of discomfort before tossing the partly shredded book into the air. The larger twin yanked their smaller sibling up by the tail and Sly immediately shrunk to a smaller size so the pressure of being lifted by the tail decreased. “That hurt!” Ayla declared as Sly hissed at them.

“Stop being such a punk!” Sly yelled, wriggling in his twin’s hold.

“I’m having a grand time. What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up after your grand time!” And Sly had no idea how he was going to reorient an entire bookshelf without someone noticing. It was odd living in a place where creatures were more likely to sleep during the day. It was fine by him, he like the light. He just really wished Ayla wasn’t making such a raucous. And that Ayla wasn’t tossing him into the air and catching him around the waist. “Don’t you do it.” Sly knew what was coming. He hated this. Ayla knew he hated this.

“Time for a little sibling football.”

“No, no it is not time for sibling football!”

Ayla lowered Sly just the slightest and Sly was writhing in their hold. “He gets ready for the kick.”

“No kicking! No kicking!” Sly yelled at the top of his lungs.

“He braces.” Ayla then braced, taking a stance alerting Sly that he was in fact about to be kicked.

“Ayla! No!” How many times did he have to tell his twin no?

He may as well stop, because Ayla wasn’t listening. “He punts!” Sly braced just in time for the bruising kick that ricocheted him up through the air. Spinning midair, he got quite an interesting view of the massive library. The wind was knocked out of him as soon as he crashed on top of an opposing shelf. “He scores!” Ayla jeered as Sly’s stinging rear dangled off the edge of the incredibly high shelf. He almost gave up and just stayed still, high above the debacle his sibling was causing.

But then he started slipping off. “Oh dear, oh Jesus, oh God,” he murmured in rapid succession as his claws dug into the wood of the shelf. It didn’t save him. He was slipping. “Ayla!” he cried out.

And this time his twin actually did seem concerned. “Sly?”

“Ayla, I’m slipping!” His sibling was dumb, this much he knew. But he hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to think he was joking. After all, he was steadily disappearing over the edge.

“Dammit. I’m coming!” He heard Ayla take off running, but by the time he’d arrive Sly would have already fallen. Goddammit, Sly had told him no more sibling football for this reason.

“Ayla!” Sly cried out again just as he was losing grip. In a vain attempt to stall for his twin, he started grabbing at books on the shelf. The only thing he managed to do was take a pair down with him as he started falling.

Blood rushed to the brownie’s head in his descent to the library floor. He was stunned by the much sooner, much softer halt of someone catching him. His blue eyes cracked open and he half expected to see the black fur of the boggart’s arms. Instead, he was greeted by . . . .

A blue sweater.

And white fur.

Gazing up, there was a voice in the back of his mind that told him he needed to flee the . . . rabbit . . . looking . . . human . . . thing holding him. But Sly’s heart was racing and he was shivering from the fall. And she wasn’t all that scary if he thought about it. Even when she asked, “What hell have I walked into?” she wasn’t all that scary.

Sly actually felt . . . comfortable answering her. “There’s a boggart running amok.”

As if on cue, Ayla cackled. Then he ran in the opposite direction of Sly yelling, “Amok amok amok!”

The rabbit person lifted an eyebrow. “I take it the boggart just ran away?” Sly grunted in response. “And you’re not a boggart?” Sly grunted again, this time indicating no. He was still sore from his stupid sibling’s game. “Well, I’m a little afraid to see the mess that guy’s been making.” She ruffled the fur on Sly’s head and Sly actually purred. “You look a little worse for wear. You wanna come with me and hang out for a bit? Get yourself together again?”

Sly was supposed to be staying out of sight. He was supposed to be hiding and not making too much racket. He was supposed to be cleaning up after his twin. But after the stunt his twin pulled . . . .

Sly could really use a break. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

And that was how Sly wound up sleeping on top a pile of books while the rabbit person Lola munched on donuts and took notes.


	13. Heartstrings: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea practices with his new abilities.

They flinched every time he succeeded. He sucked in a breath through his nose, trying to keep his own body from reacting negatively to the red strings. He could feel bile rising in his throat with each cast.

“You’re getting better.” Amaya was the most positive about this. She hadn’t had to endure Liam’s binds. Only the binds of a lower ranked member. “Does it feel natural yet?”

Tea shook his head. “It feels forced.”

“Good,” he heard the murmur from his partner Aren. Tea’s stomach dropped. He wished he didn’t need them there to help him focus and stay grounded. He wished they didn’t have to see him practice this.

Lola especially seemed like she was ready to pass out. But either way she tried her best to stay strong for him. “That means you might be able to suppress it.”

Tea nodded. If he could, he would. But for the time being, he needed to control his outbursts of anger. They emerged when he was frustrated, and he couldn’t afford to leave red strings dusting the walls and trees every time he lost his temper. It was already rare that he lost his temper, which made it harder for him to remember the exact feeling he got before accidentally casting.

If not for Lola, Amaya, and Aren, he probably wouldn’t have gotten a handle on the strings this soon. With the snap of his wrist and the twist of his hand, he’d bound a set of branches together and then made the strings disappear just as quickly. And as he had said, he still felt forced each time he did it. It would probably come more naturally if he got angry. Getting angry was so draining, he needed to make sure he kept a handle on his temper and this newfound ability. Anyone who saw these strings might panic. They might get the wrong idea. They might think . . . .

“Shhh,” Amaya soothed, as if she knew by the furrow of his brow that he was thinking ill of the situation again. “You should give yourself a break. How do you feel?”

He shrugged. “A little tired,” he answered honestly. “Not as . . . not as tired.” That was the real sign that he was getting better: his lack of weariness. Anything that required he expend some energy usually left him either sleepy or just flat out exhausted. He was making progress.

“Good. Now would you like to come inside and rest?”

He started to nod, but then shook his head. “I need to go take care of some things in the manor.” Rebuilding and working on the damage done by vines had taken up a great deal of his time lately. He needed to get back to the paperwork portion of things before he returned to his next task.

Still, it had been important to set aside time to resume the practice of learning to control the strings. “Don’t let it start to come naturally,” Aren advised. His hands were shaking, and Tea couldn’t help but think it best he give Amaya and Aren some alone time after having them watch his latest lesson. “Soon as it does . . . you’ll cast by accident.” Tea nodded in agreement.

“I’ll walk you back to the manor,” Lola declared. Tea nodded again. He appreciated the company.

It’s what kept him from breaking down crying every single time he saw the red of his former Master.

Later that afternoon, as he crawled into bed with Aiden for a nap, Tea curled up facing away from the other. It only took a few moments for Aiden to roll over and spoon against him. Tea placed a hand over the one curled around his waist and squeezed it. “What’s wrong?” Aiden asked.

It was astounding, how Aiden could now tell how Tea was feeling just as quickly as Tea could tell how the other was feeling. He started to say the truth, but then . . . .

He halted.

And sighed.

“Worried,” he said honestly.

Aiden squeezed his waist, then kissed and nuzzled his shoulder. Tea shivered at the lips on the crook of his neck and shoulder. “About what?”

Tell him, a voice in his head pleaded.

I dare you, a voice from the past mocked.

Tea’s heart stopped and he had to struggle not to stiffen. He could cry. He could cry over how badly he wanted to confide in Aiden and have him understand.

But he had to lie. There was no other option. Aiden . . . this was something he wouldn’t understand.

“Tapi . . . hasn’t been seen lately,” he fibbed. At least it was somewhat true. Somewhat worrisome.

“Isn’t it good we don’t see the old bat?”

Tea nodded, but then added, “At least if we know where she is, we know where to avoid.”

Aiden hummed. Then nodded against his shoulder. “Point.” The former Puppeteer sighed. “Good point.”

Tea’s tongue twisted in his mouth at the lie he had told. At the truth he had avoided. He squeezed his eyes shut.

And prayed for a lack of nightmares.


	14. Taste Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dextra has an unfortunate meeting with the local book eater (who is simply trying to have a good meal).

Dexy had written of a creature who devoured books, but had never actually anticipated meeting one. 

Whilst walking through the library with her notebook in hand, she overheard a strange muttering that drew her attention away from her task at hand. Odd. It was the utterance of a person whose voice she had heard on Sinny’s tongue many a day. Or at least, it sounded as such. There was no way the actual David Tennant was present in the library of the Candle Cult in Eventide, Washington, and she knew by now the difference between Sinny’s mimic and the real deal. 

Rounding the corner, she listened intently as the person spoke. “This one is bitter, this one’s a winner. I don’t like this one, and this one’s for sinners.” Dexy tilted her head at the very odd rhyme. It couldn’t be a song, could it? And why were the words accompanied by slurping sounds. “I don’t like this flavor, it’s difficult to savor. I want to eat you,” a long, drawn out slurp before an exclamation of, “oh you will do!”

It was amazing, how deadpan the sing songy voice seemed. The slurping quieted, but did not go away entirely. As Dexy finally came to face the creature that was causing such a raucous in the library, she was taken aback by how very human it was in body. The least human was the ears, pointed and sticking upward as the individual pressed the book to their face and . . . .

“Are you . . . licking books?” Who was she to judge, really? There were stranger and ruder creatures here. But still, it was exceedingly peculiar to find someone doing this so openly.

The being’s eyes peaked over the top of the book and narrowed on Dexy. She closed her mouth and took a step back, clutching her notebook to her chest like that was going to defend her. “Is Miss Nosy Rosy going to stand and stare,” the person asked in that flat voice, “or is she willing to open up her own book and share?”

“Excuse me.” Dexy was a little . . . offended. “Do you always talk in third person and verse?” That must be exhausting. Did he do it just to annoy or was it ingrained in him?

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t answer mine. What’s in the book? Its condition is prime.”

Dexy took a step back. He had dropped the third person. What was happening here? “Are you asking about my notebook?” If so, she wasn’t about to hand it to her. She wasn’t positive he would give it back in the same condition.

She wasn’t too fond of the idea of her pages being licked.

“I sense scribbles and writings, may I look at your signings?”

Her answer was immediate. “No.”

Another slurp. The book was lowered and she got a clear view of the creature’s face. He hummed, placing a finger to his lips as if he had just tasted something interesting. As if he were thinking. “Simple language, strong words.” He coughed. “Bit dusty, but definitely worth.”

Dexy stopped, then panicked. “You did not!” From over there? Really? She had to check. Opening her notebook to the most recent entry, she spotted it easily.

One whole sentence in the middle of a paragraph she had written was missing.

She could have screamed.

“I dislike graphite, but I did like the bite.”

She looked up, furious at what he had done. However, he was already on the run.

“Dammit!” Dexy kicked the book the other had dropped, noting the missing paragraphs and sentences in the few exposed pages she had seen before glaring after the being. She didn’t know which was worse: the fact that he had taken away one of her carefully thought out sentences, or that she was going to be thinking in rhyme for the rest of the day.


	15. The Changeling Fae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hood has but one rival: a changeling who became a Seelie only to darken further to an Unseelie. Introducing Cry.

“She’s precious, you know.” Hood went still at the snide voice from above. He almost fell off the branch he was perched astride, eyes locked ahead on Mari as she snuck off. He was starting to lose sight of her in the dense canopy when he heard the voice again. “You always did have a good taste in human flesh.” The changeling above him smacked his lips and Hood was suddenly aware of a scittering across the forest floor headed towards Mari. He prayed it was Little John, and not the gigantic spider that was this changeling’s pet. “Cradle robber.”

“I have never stolen what didn’t want stealing,” Hood snapped. He pulled his bow off his shoulder, searching with his mind for Little John. Yes, it was his fox following Mari. That was a relief to him. Still, he clutched the bow in anticipation of roughhousing.

“Humans these days still frown upon child thievery, I’ll have you know. Even if the child does allegedly choose to go.” Hood didn’t dare look up at the other. He grit his teeth, then jumped when the accusations began. “Are you poisoning her treats like you did me?”

He glared up at the black haired fae then, blue eyes meeting his mixed gaze. “I never—”

“Don’t act so high and mighty.” Cry gave him a semi-sharp grin. “You’re just as capable of trickery as the rest of us.”

“Your tricks are—,” Hood was cut off as something weighed on the branch he was sitting on and it snapped under him. Hood fell with a shocked outcry, his wings not acting quick enough to save him from his descent. He hit the ground hard and felt a slight crack in said appendages. Tears gathered in his eyes as he looked up to see the eight legged Ariadne with the branch Hood had been sitting on in her pincers.

Cry leapt down, his own swallow tail kite wings catching him on the wind as he landed with his feet on either side of Hood’s hips. “I’m sorry,” the taller declared mockingly, “but were you about to say that was beneath you?” Cry snickered at himself. “I’m afraid you’re the one beneath me, Jokubas.”

It was difficult looking up at his once friend like this. His once companion. Cry had been a playful child, had run straight into Hood’s arms more times than one. Now . . . .

Hood couldn’t help but wish he were worlds away from the changeling.

And if he insisted on pulling out names, he would as well. “What do you really want, Vytautus?”

Cry hummed. “Nothing from you.” He stepped off of Hood and started through the woods. “For now.”

It wasn’t until Cry was out of sight that Hood realized Ariadne had disappeared as well. Usually the spider lingered. This time she did not.

That frightened Hood more than the ominousness of his former friend he still feared reporting to the Seelie Parliament.

\--

The girl stepped lightly, but not as light as Ariadne. The spider followed her to the edge of the woods. Cry had no real interest in the girl, but he was still able to watch her through Ariadne’s eyes. Watch and be sure she didn’t double back to find her little comrade on the ground with a fractured wing.

The girl did look delicious . . . soft skin and bones that hadn’t grown brittle with age yet.

If she was foolish enough to accept Hood’s many offers, perhaps Cry would save her from her fate.

He was always up for a snack.


	16. Come Little Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sisu once had feelings. She buried them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story features a child's death. Please be aware as you proceed. Even if I were still posting to the forum, I would never post this.

She wasn’t always cruel and heartless, but she was better off this way. Otherwise, she might find her actions to be as heartless as the creatures she took from seem to find them.

“Come little children, I’ll take thee away,” she sang as she rocked the infant to sleep. He had started crying in Sisu’s arms as soon as she had lifted him from his cradle. Now that she was in her realm and only she could hear him, she set to soothing it. “Into a land of enchantment.” He squirmed, his cries growing quieter as she continued the song. It was a stupid little song, but on her voice it sounded so enchanting. So very, very enchanting. “Come little children, the time’s come to play.” The infant’s eyes were closing and she was grinning. A small hand clutched at her long ear as she finished up the verse, “Here in my garden of magic.”

The baby was asleep in her arms now, small breaths audible only to her. She smiled down at the child she had stolen and continued to hum the rest of the song. His palm slipped from her ear and tangled in her long hair briefly, then let go entirely as his head turned to the side and his blue eyes stayed closed.

Sisu rocked him gently, remembering a time when she was small as well. Small and weak and fragile.

Easily bruised.

Easily hurt.

In another life, she would have sobbed at the sight of an Unseelie holding an infant like this. In another life still, she would have justified her actions by saying she was saving the boy from a life of hurt.

In this life?

She was just hungry.

The skin around her eyes darkened to black and she felt a pop in her jaw as it unhinged. Her mouth gaped and her teeth blackened and sharpened. There was a sharp breath from the infant as she let loose the smallest of hisses. Her mouth widened and opened and in two quick movements . . . .

The infant was swallowed whole.

He disappeared into the void of her mouth, squeezed down her throat that stretched to accommodate. She felt one last squirm and kick and one last cry of upset left the infant’s body and escaped her mouth before her jaws snapped shut.

She felt the crunch of his bones and the oozing of his blood and body fluids as soon as he was crushed to death within her.

Features reforming as the child was devoured, she reached up to inspect her teeth with a single claw. Not even a snag of flesh.

She withheld a satisfied belch, but unleashed a continuation of the song she had been singing in the form of a hum.


	17. A Wolf in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erland was the one who told Rowan stories at night. Leah's only regret was that she wasn't there to hear them.

Leah didn't tell her son as many stories as perhaps a mother should have. She wasn't there for most of his bedtimes, and she whenever she was . . . .

She wasn't herself. 

Erland left the door ajar for her just in case. Usually he stayed up working in the shop. This night he could be found in a chair beside Rowan's bed. Their son had kicked the blankets off and Erland was snoring loud enough that her pushing open the door didn't wake them. 

The gray wolf padded towards the man and child, momentarily considering nosing Erland's knee until he woke. She knew better though. He tended to wake up and lurch left for his gun only to grab whatever was in reach. A book. A lamp. A pillow. It was best to let him sleep.

The wolf approached the boy on the bed, resting her head on the mattress as gold, reflecting eyes stared at her son. A small whine left her throat as her tail wagged. Turning away, she lowered her head to pick up the blanket in her mouth. She struggled to get it fully on the bed. The least she could do was nose it over Rowan's feet before steadily pulling it up with her teeth. 

She stopped and stepped back when the boy shifted. She watched as he rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up and with him of his own accord. Leah resumed resting her head on the mattress by her son's shoulder. She listened to him breathe, listened to both her boys and monitored the rise and fall of their chests. Her ears didn't perk up until she heard movement outside the house. 

She was reluctant to leave them . . . .

But she did anyway. 

Trotting away, she left her husband and son to rest as she investigated the noise outside.


	18. To Catch a Brownie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha found something that he just has to show Seon.
> 
> Takes place early in their relationship as business partners.

“What is that unholy screeching?”

“I am about to show you.”

Seon’s eyes narrowed on the Russian Grand Editor as he led her into his living room. So much for a business trip. They had barely got anything settled and he was already distracting her with . . . whatever this thing was. “I’m not sure I want to see it.”

“You do, myshka.” They came around the couch where his beast was seated, clearly struggling to hold something that insisted on squealing its head off. When Sasha came into view of the yeti, the yeti immediately held up the black, squirming creature he had been holding and whistled sadly. Sasha whistled back, and Seon was left with her eyebrow ticked up as Sasha wrapped an arm tight around the obstinate creature. He reiterated in a language she and he both understood, “He will calm down eventually.”

Eventually he says, Seon thought. She maintained a healthy distance, folding her arms and squinting at the clearly unhappy creature. “What is it and can it die from distress?” It certainly looked like it was going to. It was so small. She was willing to bet its heart was only so strong.

“We caught it cleaning. We think it is a brownie.” Ah wonderful, she couldn’t help but think. Something that actually got work done. Sometimes Sasha needed more urging than she cared to give to accomplish anything. That anything in his household was productive came as a surprise to her. Of course, she would never point that out. That would hurt Phil’s feelings, and heaven forbid she do such a thing. “I am calling him Imitatta.”

Seon glared at the writhing creature. Its screaming was giving her a headache, its mouth agape to reveal insides as pitch dark as its body. Big ears stuck up out of a mane of ridiculously long, black hair. It was tangled in the Russian’s grasp and around the thing’s body, Seon’s focus falling on a tail tucked between kicking legs and curled against a heaving chest.

This poor thing was horrified.

As the yeti moved closer to pat the head of the wailing brownie, Seon eyed Sasha and bluntly stated, “Do you have the skills to take care of something like that?” How long had it been crying, exactly? It was almost pitiful, how tears streaked through what appeared to be a thin layer of fur leaving painfully obvious trails. Its features were so large and exaggerated, and there was a blatant chubbiness to the being found in human infants. She was willing to bet it was a child.

Sasha Zharkov, for all of his fantastic traits and abilities, should not be trusted with a child.

“It can’t be too difficult.”

That was not the correct answer. “Release it.”

Sasha shook his head and irritation spiked within her. “Look at it, myshka. Do you think it will survive on its own?”

Well no if you were able to catch it, she thought. Sasha was not the stealthiest of men. “What use is a crying brownie?”

“He cleans!” That was not a good enough reason, she thought. She could clean just as well. But Sasha continued, “They are very swift. And quiet. He could easily sneak around and gather information if trained. He could even prove a handy defender.”

That piqued her interest. But . . . she eyed the creature further. It would need the right handler if it was to reach its full potential. “Hand it to me,” she declared, holding her palms out in demand. Sasha’s brow furrowed. “If I can get it to stop squealing, I will keep it.”

Sasha’s furrowed brow creased even further as he started to pout. “But myshka--”

“If I can’t, you can have it as long as it doesn’t cause a disruption.” And it was already incredibly disruptive. “Now hand it here.”

One of the many reasons she did in fact trust Sasha to the title he had held for so long was his integrity. Though she knew several Puppeteers who would have pinched Imitatta simply to get it to cry more and thereby win the creature, she knew that for all of Sasha’s still inherent psychopathy that he was not needlessly cruel. He would honor the terms no matter his own desires. He placed the creature in her hands as gently as he was able with it still kicking and screaming, waiting for Seon to get a firm grasp before untangling his hands from its hair. “He will quiet for a time if you scratch his head.”

Seon raised both eyebrows at the offered advice. Well, she considered, at least Sasha’s priorities were in fact with the little beast’s comforts. Keeping the information in mind, she turned her full attention to the squirming brownie and declared rather forcefully, “Stop screaming.” As soon as Imitatta obeyed, soft whimpers escaping its quivering lips, she gave a second order. “Now be still.” While it curled in on itself, nearly balling up in her hands whilst gripping her wrists with small, shaky palms, it did in fact listen. It was still once it had settled. Large eyes slid open slowly, and she was greeted by a vividly colorful, albeit tearful, purple set of irises. The brownie took one look at her flat expression and started to cry harder again, only for her to declare once more, “Stop.” It did, and she followed up with, “You’re not in danger here.” You petulant little monster. She didn’t say the words aloud. She needed it to calm down, not bite back. When it went a while longer without uttering anything louder than a whimper, she adjusted the creature in her arms and rewarded it with a head scratch.

It went limp in her hold and curled against her chest.

This was most definitely a child.

She tilted her head and watched it closely, continuing to scratch its scalp as she softened her hold on it. She readied to grasp it again in apprehension of it abusing her lowered guard to shoot out of her hands, but was blatantly disarmed when something curled around the forearm not currently cradling Imitatta. Seon’s eyes darted to the offending appendage and found that it was the brownie’s tail, looped around her arm and gripping lightly.

Seon looked up at Sasha, her head still tilted and the Russian sighing in defeat. Even Phil pouted slightly, but Seon gave no further argument than that the creature was remaining calm and quiet while in her hold.

Imitatta had chosen their Master.


	19. Her Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imitatta proved a loyal companion and a persistent follower to Seon.

Imi (a shortened version of the name Sasha had given the little creature) did not like meat. Convincing her to stay was not an issue, but convincing her to eat her protein was near impossible. On the bright side, Seon did not have to tell her to eat her vegetables. The small shadow creature poked at the fish on her plate, but devoured the spiced leeks.

“Protein deficiency can lead to loss of hair and muscle. Eat your fish,” she would very flatly say. And Imi just looked up at her with those big purple eyes and whined. Seon sighed. If she branded the creature at all, it would be because she needed to make her eat her protein. She would perhaps be more annoyed if Imi didn’t show a distinct interest in learning to cook and perform other tasks in Seon’s stead. Often Seon would fall asleep and expect the creature to have run off, but then would wake up to find laundry folded, dishes scrubbed, and the floors completely polished. Imi would be curled up on a pillow beside her bed, hair wrapped around her body like a blanket. “I am completely capable of doing my own chores,” Seon would tell the creature.

Again, she was met with those big purple eyes.

Perhaps she should order the little thing to scrub Sasha’s home. The man seemed too distracted to maintain his place some days, and Phil was only so talented. However, she would be condemning Imi to a life of being squeezed to death in a hug. The creature seemed as enticed by the thought as she was.

Which was not at all.

Seon caught Imi mirroring her techniques in the kitchen one day. The creature sidled up to her while she was chopping vegetables. It was when Seon started to slice and mince that she saw Imi’s hands moving, the tiny thing copying Seon’s every move with the knife with exceptional precision.

It was then she started to appreciate the name Sasha had given the creature. She truly was an imitator.

It was in teaching Imi how to cook that she learned exactly how to get the creature to eat protein. Seon noticed rather quickly the handfuls of peanuts that would disappear while cooking with Imi. The creature was fast. Seon was unsure she was really eating them until she saw Imi’s hand going towards her mouth.

Normally Seon would have reprimanded her for eating ingredients before they were properly garnished and added to the mix.

Seon’s only demand in this case was that Imi actually chew the nuts well.

And the creature’s love for nuts did not end at peanuts. Cashews, pistachios, and almonds were not safe either. It wasn’t until Imi encountered walnuts that she found her true obsession.

She had a rivalry with the shells hiding her preferred treats.

Seon gave her a nutcracker at some point, then promptly had to go out and buy herself a new one as she knew she was never going to see the device again. It was probably hidden in that mass of hair that made up the majority of Imi. She definitely had not lost it. This was evidenced by the cracked shells kept in a pile by her head as she slept on her pillow. Seon stepped over Imi’s sleeping form without complaint, then turned and bent over to scratch the shadow creature’s scalp. Imi hummed appreciatively in her sleep.

The Asian Puppet Master knew that there wouldn’t be a trace of mess come morning, and that she would have to reprimand the creature for cleaning too much as opposed to not enough.


	20. The Forest Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samily is brought into the cult.

“Tell me what makes you cry, dearest flower.”

Samily had stolen one of Leland’s hoodies and was sitting in a corner of his home. Her hair wrapped around her seat and feet many times over, the plant life growing from her scalp wilting with her sadness. She sat awkwardly in the large article of clothing, rubbing at her eyes and feeling like a failure. At long last she sniffled, then removed the hood to show him the flames dancing at the tips of her small wooden horns. Before looking at the forest guardian, she murmured, “Did it hurt this much when she took you?”

The smaller of the two guardians had not anticipated being scooped up by Leland, the larger cradling her in his arms. Her hair dragged along the floor of his home, following them as he carried her down the hall. “The pain will go away, flower. I promise.”

“I know,” she whimpered. “I just . . . I was supposed to take care of you . . . and sh-she hurt you lik-ke this—”

“Shhhh.” She quieted at the command, before turning into a room of his home. “I know you wish to guard me. My flower, I do not need the protection. Not here.”

“B-but Tap—”

“Do not be concerned with Tapi,” he declared, setting Samily on a small, soft mattress. “You are still so young, Samily.”

She squinted at her old friend. “I’m suppose-sed to be older than-n you.”

“In the last life perhaps. In this one?” He pulled a blanket over her bare legs before starting to gather up her yards and yards of hair and wrapping it around her. “Get some rest flower. The pain will ease.”

“What if it doesn’t?” A spike of fear settled in her chest. “What if I hate it here? What if I never . . . ?” she didn’t finish. She had always wanted a forest of her own. A home of her own. She had wanted something to protect.

Leland had lost what he had deemed worth protecting, and here she was complaining. She pouted, but Leland continued to smile. “It will. And you won’t. You’ll find someone to call home.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, but she didn’t quite understand what he had meant. She didn’t think she would either.

Until a few days later . . . .

Samily had grown tired of being cooped up in the home, but she was still so scared to wander out into the forests of Eventide. Her first steps outside since losing her soul had been in trepidation. She’d been hiding in Leland’s sweaters for too long though, and she needed to feel the breeze again. She needed the earth between her toes, the leaves rustling in her ears, her hair draping over the landscape and skin warmed by the sun. She needed to be outside.

What she didn’t need was to be startled by a small . . . creature picking her hair up and swinging it back and forth without her realizing.

When Samily felt the tug, she jumped and squealed. She nearly launched up the nearest tree, but stopped when she turned and beheld who it was humming and holding her hair. She tilted her head at the small antlered woman holding her black mane and swaying it back and forth playfully. Perhaps woman was being generous, since she looked almost child-like playing with Samily’s hair. However she felt . . . old . . . .

How had Samily not sensed her drawing near?

The girl seemed oblivious to Samily’s watching her, and it gave Samily time to look her over. She was blue and black in color, unnaturally blue. She had bandaids on her legs and her dress was torn and frayed. Her hair was long, falling to her waist. Her antlers . . . .

They bore flames too.

Multiple flames flickered on the girl’s antlers, Samily utterly mesmerized by the other cultist. When she looked up at Samily at last, she declared in a sweet voice that resonated through the woods in a way that was familiar to Samily, “Hello! I like your hair.” The girl also tilted her head, and Samily realized that multiple eyes were staring back at her. “Are you a forest spirit too?”

Too? This . . ., “You’re this forest’s guardian?” How . . . strange.

And beautiful.

The girl nodded happily and beamed. Ah, so that was how she had eluded Samily. She was so much a part of the forest Samily hadn’t been able to pick up on her presence. “One of them. I’m not the first, but I’m definitely a big one! I’ve been protecting it and the creatures for almost a century. Maybe longer,” she giggled, dropping the mane of hair and bouncing on her feet. “You are new?” Samily nodded. The girl stepped closer and Samily fought the urge to step back. When the girl held her palm out, Samily stared at it. “I’m Penelope Rose. You can call me Pen if you think that’s a bit of a mouthful.”

Samily hesitated, but then took the girl’s hand. It was soft . . . kind. Like its owner. “Samily,” she said with a small smile.  
“Pleased to meet you!” The warmth that flooded Samily made her feel . . . welcome.

Suddenly, Samily thought she understood what Leland had met in finding someone to call home.


	21. The Boogeyman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umber Espinosa meets a girl who simply is not afraid of him.

“Knock knock,” came a gravelly voice from the child’s closet. There was a whimper as Umber’s shadows spilled from out of the cracks of the closet, rattling the door as the oozed out and bled into the walls of the bedroom. A muffled crying sound reached Umber’s ears and the hybrid was grinning. The small cries, he thought. Cry louder.

He wanted to taste its fear.

The child did just that as Umber felt his shadows continue to darken the already darkened room. They creeped and crawled over floor and across wall. He let himself slip from corporal to the form he was most associated with.

The door started to creak open.

The gradual creak echoed in the dense shadows that made up half the room now.

The door swung fully open, tapping the wall and . . . .

He emerged, towering over the child’s bed.

The child was sobbing by the time it was looking at a pair of wide, red eyes and a wide, jack-o-lantern grin full of sharp teeth. Umber flexed his fingers, long and clawed and bony like that of his base creature. His hair was frazzled and he looked like the storybook creature the child had seen in a movie it should not have been watching while its parents slept. The small screams, Umber mused. He leaned closer, fascinated by the streaks of water on the child’s hairless face. Umber’s tail whipped once, shadows continuing to creep out and darken the room as he drew nearer and nearer the horrified child unable to pull the covers over its head to hide.

The fear . . . .

It had always looked interesting on those whose faces were so similar yet so different from his.

He picked up on the approach of the child’s sire and dam and quickly shrank back into the closet. The shadows followed swiftly, and soon he was dropping out of the room entirely and into complete darkness. The child’s parents would check the closet and see that there was no Boogeyman within.

He would already be gone.

Umber cackled within the shadow realm as he bounced and floated to the next opening. His fluid form flickered and fluttered as he thought of his next snack. As nourishing as a child’s screams sometimes felt to him, he wanted to actually consume. Perhaps he would find a nice morsel in the next child’s room. Good good, he thought. Very good.

His thoughts broken and incomplete sentences, he nearly started clapping at the thought of something to eat. When he reemerged from the shadow realm, the dark portal let him out in a hallway. Hands out in front of him as he crept quietly along the hallway, he proceeded to mumble incoherently to himself as he lost shape before sliding through the cracks of the first door he came upon. Long, wet tongue sliding over his fangs and lips, he started rummaging through the rather cluttered room.

And was disrupted immediately by someone snapping, “Hey!” His head whipped about, top hat nearly flying off at the momentum. He was crouched on a pile of junk with a book in his hand, face to face with a . . . hooded child who had come from out of nowhere. “What are you doing in my room?!”

Defenses dropped momentarily, Umber bristled at the small who was . . . not crying. It must cry, he thought partly furiously. It must scream and it must cry.

He dropped what he was holding.

And in one blast, shadow was flooding from under his coat and drenching the room as he did not grin. He roared, holding his hands up with lengthening fingers and claws. His eyes glowed redder as he grew and grew, hovering over the child in a ferocious attempt to scare her from her room. Go find the bigs small, he thought. “Get out!” was what he said.

Get out was not what it did.

“Are you done?” it said, rather annoyed. Umber went still, quieting. The shadows continued to drench the room and engulf their surroundings. He didn’t yet withdraw, still hovering in shock.

It wasn’t . . . the girl child wasn’t . . . afraid?

She wasn’t screaming?

He resorted to roaring even louder. “GET OUT!” The words echoed through the room, shadows tugging and yanking at the child.

But she didn’t budge. Even as his palms neared her, threatening to touch her. His fingers shook, his frustration made the shadows writhe.

Smack!

The girl swatted at his palms and he yelped, the display he was putting on dropping immediately. “Bad!” the girl declared, pointing up at his face and making him jump back. “Bad . . . weird . . . boogey thing.”

She wasn’t afraid.

The girl wasn’t afraid at all.

And that terrified him.

For the first time in over a thousand years, Umber panicked. He panicked and looked for somewhere to hide. Somewhere to disappear. He was starting to flicker and morph, losing shape in his panic. He was whining, and there was no place he could dive into to get to the shadow realm.

He dove into the next best hiding spot and it was there the girl left him to whimper and cower.

\--

Mari had thought maybe the weird shadow creature would leave at some point, but a few days passed and it seemed he was still stuck under her bed. She knew because she heard him thumping and shifting around under it. Every now and then a whine would reach her ears. It was pitiful.

So pitiful that one day she brought a bag of Cheetos from the cult kitchen and placed it at the edge of the bed.

Climbing onto the mattress, she watched to see what would happen if she waited long enough. There was a good ten minutes of silence. Utter silence. No thumping, no shifting, no whining. Complete. Silence.

Then she heard a grunting.

A long, clawed, furred finger slid from under the bed and poked the Cheetos before retracting immediately. Silence once again. A moment later the hand the finger was attached to was inching out slowly, reaching for the Cheetos tentatively. There were wet noises, like he was drooling and smacking his lips. Mari was utterly still as she watched the long fingers brush the side of the bag.

And then yanked it under the bed.

She smirked to herself as she heard rapid munching and crunching from under her bed. She listened for a good few minutes, settling onto the bed slowly to watch where the Cheetos had disappeared. When the springs squeaked, the creature didn’t stop eating much to her surprise.

And in a matter of minutes the bag was thrown from under the bed, empty and floating to the ground.

Mari snorted as she heard more wet noises, like he was licking his fingers. “Say thank you at least,” she quipped.

There was a long pause, and she thought he would continue the whining and thumping of before.

But then . . . .

“Thank.”

Mari couldn’t help but snort.


	22. Thick as Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jordan is not an emotional creature, but Bodewyn is.

“Just because you do fine without a tail doesn’t mean I want to share in the experience!”

Jordan watched as Bodewyn turned his back on him, said tail wound tightly around his waist as he sat apart from himself and Rosalind. Rosalind was currently reclined on the sack of stolen goods Jordan had made off with, plucking through the precious pieces of jewelry absentmindedly whilst ignoring Bodewyn’s declaration.

Reaching into the pocket of his unbuttoned shirt, Jordan pulled something out and held it in his palm as he approached Bodewyn. Kneeling down behind him, the orange eyed hybrid rested his chin on the top of Bodewyn’s head. Bodewyn hissed. “Don’t be like that. You know you had fun,” Jordan purred as he pressed himself flush against Bodewyn’s back.

“You weren’t the one who almost got left hanging,” the purple eyed hybrid retorted. He bristled at every point Jordan was touching him. The smaller tried to brush him off. “Get off, I’m not in the mood.”

“Heists are dangerous. That’s a given. The important thing is we all got out.” Jordan ran the index finger of his free hand down Bodewyn’s bicep, whispering into his pointed ear, “We’re safe. You’re safe.” Bodewyn huffed, glaring ahead and blatantly ignoring Jordan’s attempts to soothe him.

Something hit the back of Jordan’s head and Jordan turned to glare at Rosalind. The shrunken, albino boggart scowled at him, gesturing for him to give Bodewyn his space and quit pestering him.

Jordan held up a finger, telling her to wait a minute.

She let out a gust of air and flipped over on the mound of loot, resuming counting the pieces and ignoring them.

With that, Jordan unclenched his fist and revealed to Bodewyn what it was he’d pulled from the stash of recent acquisitions. Bodewyn scoffed, looking away from Jordan’s open palm. Then he turned his gaze back upon it slowly before murmuring a rather quiet, “What’s this?”

“The most precious thing in the plunder.”

“Oh, I doubt that—”

“I’m talking about you.”

Bodewyn turned his head to look over his shoulder at Jordan. “What lame excuse for a joke is this?”

“I want you to wear this,” Jordan said flatly. His parents, when they ran into them, pestered him into at least partly clothing himself despite his state of being hybrid. At least, his mother did. He had been thinking of ways to wrangle Bodewyn into doing similarly so that perhaps Blythe Schuyler didn’t look upon Bodewyn so suspiciously. “It matches your eyes.”

Bodewyn grimaced at the large amethyst in Jordan’s palm. It was set into a pure silver backing along with a series of diamonds, a chain of even smaller diamonds running from a cuff to the sharp point meant to pierce the ear. Bodewyn looked between the beautiful earring and Jordan, then back at the earring. The brownie hybrid’s lip trembled, and Jordan knew he was struggling to stay angry at him. “Why?”

“I said why.”

“Why else?”

Jordan huffed. “You’re so suspicious.”

“With you? Always.”

Without warning, Jordan leaned forward and nipped at Bodewyn’s earlobe. That won Jordan a shiver. “Think of it . . . as a promise.” Jordan moved to attach the earring to Bodewyn’s left ear, finding the piercing hole and feeding the earring through it. As he fastened it and attached the dangling cuff, he whispered, “No matter how dire things look, I’ll always have your back. You’ll never be left behind.” Jordan slid his palms over Bodewyn’s neck, then cupped his chin to tilt his head back. He looked over the earring, which dangled nicely from his left ear and (as suspected) matched his purple eyes perfectly. He then buried his lips in Bodewyn’s neck and bit lightly. The sharp gasp that escaped Bodewyn’s lips as eyes fluttered shut made him grin as he watched with hooded eyes. “Does that satisfy your doubts?”

Bodewyn didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Jordan had already won this argument.


	23. This is a Bad Girls' World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shadows sisters do what they have to to survive.

“Xantara!” Xan sat on the floor, holding the half empty jug of milk in both hands. Blood was smeared on the jug, dripping from her forearms as she pulled the nourishment away from her lips and spilled some on her naked lap. “What happened?!”

Xan looked to her hooded sister, who was coming into the kitchen to an older sibling in the nude and two bodies. There was a man to either side of Xan, and their blood ran from her hands to her elbows and was splattered across her face and torso. Xan gulped down the milk she was furiously chugging in the wake of a series of very draining shifts. “They were hunters.” Demon hunters.

And they had thought her a demon.

Perhaps she was. Why else were the two of them still alive for so long and so lovingly blessed with unreal shape shifting abilities?

Raven stared, eyes wide beneath the hood as she stepped over the bloody bodies. “But . . . again?” She stood over Xan, who returned to chugging the milk as she looked up at her sister. She begged Raven with her eyes to understand that she hadn’t wanted to do this again, but she had to. “Every single time—”

“They tried to SHOOT me!” Xan remarked, spitting milk as she defended herself. “Did you expect me to shake their hands and say, ‘hello yes do come in make yourselves at home?!’”

“You didn’t have to kill them!”

“They were trying to kill me!”

Raven growled before dropping to sit beside her older sister. They sat in silence, the only sounds the sloshing of the remaining milk and the belches Xan tried to release quietly. Raven pursed her lips. After a few long moments, Raven finally whispered, “We have to move. Again.”

Xan gulped and sighed. “Sorry.”

Raven sighed herself. “What’s closer: river or pig farm?”

Xan thought about it. “Bog. I think. Or swamp. Whatever.”

Raven nodded. “Can you try a little harder not to . . . do this again in the next town?”

Xan paused. Then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll . . . I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

“Now can we get Burger King?”

Raven let out another growl, then punched her sister in her bare breast. Xan dropped the jug of milk, the remnants spilling and mixing with the blood on the floor.

The tiles wouldn’t lose that pink tint no matter how much the next owner of the apartment scrubbed.


	24. A Hammer and an Orb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has had a difficult time since waking up, but apparently this floating orb is feeling similarly.

“NYAH NYAH NYAH WAK NYAHP!” Thwot! Steve didn’t even blink as the tea bag smacked against his temple. It had taken him days to discover how to align his thoughts. He was not supposed to have thoughts. It had taken him weeks to be able to change. Being a hammer, he couldn’t very well move on his own. Once changed, it took him a month to figure out how to move without smashing into a wall (or through one).

And the second he figured out how to open his mouth and speak, the words coming out were something akin to, “Fuck off!”

The flying saucer (plus teacup plus orb) froze midair and hovered over his head. Steve glared at the harmless eldritch, and was two seconds away from flicking it away. But then its—Earl’s, he had decided to name it Earl—eye turned downward in a sad expression. It patted its fluffy head repeatedly, anxiously, trying to convey some sort of message through frantic baps. “Nyeh nyeh,” it murmured at first. Then it grew louder, “Nyeh nyah NYAH NYAH!”

“What the bloody hell is your damage, mate? Literally, what have I done to deserve this?!” Where had the fuzzball come from and why didn’t it stay there? Where had Steve (or rather his ability to think) come from . . . and why hadn’t he stayed there . . . ? “Seriously! Go on somew—MPF!”

A tea bag landed perfectly in his mouth, the orb having thrown it expertly. As much as something like this thing could be called expert. Steve spat it out into his hand, looking up to see Earl glaring at him as it very pointedly declared, “NYAHP!”

Steve ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth and across his teeth, identifying the taste. It was strong. Like . . . breakfast tea. Looking at the creature, Earl gave him that downtrodden look again.

The thing must be just as confused as he was.

Steve sighed and grunted. “Alright Earl. I’m,” he tasted the tea bag again with his tongue, “awake. Now what?” The next thing he knew, the orb had flown at the side of his face and was hugging his head. Steve let out a noise of discomfort, then an awkward noise that resembled a chuckle. “Uh . . . there there. I . . . suppose.” Weird. This had to be weird, right?

It was most certainly annoying. At least it started to be when Earl steadily started whining in his ear. That was fine.

But then it turned into a scream and Steve was pitching the orb across the room.


	25. A Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aima's job is most often a lonely one, but there is some satisfaction to be had.

“Tell me something you wish you had done,” she uttered. The patient didn’t hear her. Aima was certain that she could sense her. The old woman had sensed her for a long time. Aima steadily unraveled the linen she kept wrapped round her hand. She hummed in thought. “Did you want to go to Paris?” The machines beeped steadily. Aima listened, the sound of silence heavier than the technology pushing to keep the elder breathing. “No,” she uttered. “London?” The linen was tight from her palm to her elbow. As she unwound, she slowly revealed a tattoo. It was a vibrant green, a vine twisted and winding around her left forearm. As she revealed it, it became more than a tattoo. “Salisbury Plain.” It came to life. “Fine choice.”

She told the elderly woman it was windy there. She should wear a scarf and hat, lest her ears get too cold. On the off chance it snowed there, wear boots. The machines whirred as Aima pulled the bandage free at last.

And in her palm was resurrected a flower as white as her robes.

It bloomed. She watched it, still speaking to the woman as the petals unfolded. She told the woman of Stonehenge. It was so much bigger than the elder would have imagined, so much more detailed. She told the elder she was going to love it.

The flower, full and open, was ready. Aima took a deep breath and touched the woman’s hand. She held it firmly, letting her soul come to terms with the change.

The machines flat lined.

The older woman sat up as nurses rushed in . . . but she left the shell of her once body behind on the bed.

Before the woman could turn around to look at who—what—she had left behind, Aima smiled and pulled her attention toward her with the soft whisper of her name. The elderly woman looked at her, now oblivious to the living as they faded with the scenery. The hospital disappeared and the woman and the reaper were left alone. The elderly woman looked confused. “It . . . doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Aima smiled. “And it never will again.” Still holding the woman’s hand firmly, she would not let go until she took the woman’s soul to her final resting place. “Are you ready to see that Wonder?”

There was a long pause, and then . . . the elderly woman let out the most radiant of smiles.


	26. Who is he?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena catches a glimpse of a kelpie.

Serena surfaced after she was startled up from the depths of the lake. The currents she was used to. They were gentle, not nearly as rough as those of the sea. The weeds that rose up from the bottom and tickled her tail often she was also used to. She knew there were other deep sea sirens within the lake, other creatures such as Desdemona sitting at the bottom and indulging in said weeds.

This siren however had never been attacked by the weeds.

There had been a rush of movement, then the lake life had caught her by the tail. She had unleashed an unholy screech into the lake, frightening the other life away. Whatever had attacked her had been frightened away as well, and she had quickly been set free.

She had not always surfaced out of panic. She had only begun when she realized her allies were all land dwellers.

Gazing about for one of those allies, she instead found a man sitting on the shore. He was dripping and he was in the nude. Now, she had learned this was uncommon for land dwellers. Nudity was considered rude, primarily in the public eye. So to see someone in the nude took her off guard.

Instead of approaching, she hid in a patch of reeds. She watched as the man, wearing nothing but a silver necklace, groomed himself. By groom, it was meant that he was running his fingers through his mane of dark hair. It seemed that he had weeds stuck in that mane, but he didn’t seem to be attempting to get them out. He just seemed to be straightening the mass. She sank lower in the lake, her eyes just above water level.

And was intrigued to discover the new lake dweller as the man took off the silver necklace and revealed himself to be none other than a kelpie.

She let out a gasp that made the lake horse look up after having secured the necklace within its mane. She dropped below the surface hastily, not wanting to attract the aggression of a kelpie. Deciding to switch spots, she swam across to another patch of reeds.

When she surfaced again, the kelpie was gone.

She was left with many unanswered questions.


	27. Locklear's Assistants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locklear started with no one. He wound up with a family of boggarts and brownies as helpers around the lab.

“She won’t come out,” Feist declared.

“So she isn’t as forward as the two of you were. Interesting.” Locklear made a mental note as he watched Faust lay out a trail of dried fruit as if that would lure their new guest out.

“She isn’t a boggart.”

Locklear continued making notes. “Then what is she?”

“A brownie.” Faust nodded, agreeing with his twin. The albino continued laying out a trail for the mysterious brownie to follow.

“Tell me about her, since you are the only ones who have seen her.” Feist described her appearance in detail, right down to eye and skin color. Locklear hummed when it was mentioned that she was spotted. “Can she speak?”

“She hasn’t responded to either of us.”

A week spanned as Feist and Faust talked of this brownie he had not yet seen. It was quite the antithesis to the appearance of the two males. When they had shown up, they were wreaking havoc in his office. They were lucky they had not harmed any of his paperwork.

Locklear would have killed them on the spot.

They had proven quite loyal and faithful companions, albeit rather sarcastic and at times antagonistic towards him. Once they had gotten used to him and trusted him enough that he could look them over however, they were nothing but agreeable. They helped him when his projects got too difficult. They retrieved information when he did not wish to leave the lab. They even reported on this so called brownie that had taken up residence.

Locklear was actually taking notes when out of the corner of his eye he spotted something emerging from under the table. He said nothing, and instead continued writing. He expected it to be one of the boys.

But then it wasn’t.

The small creature had gotten halfway across the floor towards him when it stopped, and Locklear felt eyes on him. He turned his head slightly, and the creature jumped. He immediately turned his attention back to his notes, feigning ignorance to the other’s presence. He deducted almost immediately that this must be the latest arrival, as neither Feist nor Faust would jump at his movements or approach so slowly. When he continued at his normal pace without acknowledging her again, she started moving once more.

She was getting closer.

Locklear actually managed to tune her out entirely, ignoring her movements (which he knew from experience she could disguise if she wanted to and was obviously choosing not to this time). He was almost finished with his notes when he looked up.

And she was on the desk beside him.

Her nose twitched as she stared into his goggles, searching for a stare. When she didn’t find it, she sat back on her haunches. They appraised each other, her pink nose complimented by the white patch on her chin and chest. Her tail was white at the base as well, said tail twitching ever so slightly as she looked him over as much as he looked her over. They sat like that for a good few moments.

He let her be the first to move. When she did, she tentatively touched the pages on the desk. His eyes narrowed behind the goggles, and he waited to see what she would do. When she did not fling the pages (as the males were prone to do) but instead straightened them so that they were perfectly aligned with one another, he took a risk.

Locklear held out his hand.

She sat back on her haunches again and stared at the offering. Her nose twitched and her ears flicked forward, having lain back this whole time. Tentatively, she reached out a paw and let it rest on his index and middle fingers.

He gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hello,” he murmured quietly. She placed her other hand on his remaining digits as if to say hello back. In his mind, he had already named her.

Cleo.


	28. Locklear's Apprentice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locklear has a new arrival and she is quite the riot.

Cleo, after having carried the child in her belly, promptly pushed the small thing aside. She didn’t intend to share her space and duties with the newborn, who was already moving around on her own after birth, but the newborn also showed no desire in leaving. She fit in Locklear’s palm easily in her small form, and she seemed to prefer her small form to her larger form.

For the longest time she sat inside Locklear’s breast pocket, invisible save for a pair of ears poking out of the top and drooping over the fabric. He took notes, went about his daily business and research, all with this small, pink nosed brownie crawling over him like a sugar glider on her own personal tree.

He wondered if she would be mute like her mother and uncle until one day she uttered something. He didn’t quite hear it at first, but it was quickly followed by her running in circles on his desk. She was so swift, so light-footed, that nothing moved even in her frantic dash around and around. She repeated the word over and over as she completed each circle.

The word was, “Run.”

The brownie offspring lacked an extensive vocabulary like her sire, but she got her point across in a voice that mimicked his. When Alessa came to visit, she quickly latched onto his twin’s voice and kept it. It suited her as she darted through rooms with deadly experiments and volatile chemicals.

Never once did she endanger herself or anyone else in the building in spite of her hyperactive behavior.

She stopped when she slept, and she stopped when she ate and drank. She mostly drank, claimed she didn’t have time to eat (not allowed but with her behavior). So instead of just water, he set out specially concocted mixtures of liquids that would give her all the nutrition she needed. She responded most positively to sweeter liquids.

And it was from this habit of consuming she got her name Juice.

Juice didn’t clean or befriend in the same way as her mother. Cleo was slow, methodical, precise, and tough. Juice relied entirely on her speed, and it was her speed that allowed her to outrun any creature as she rearranged their environment Locklear provided and proceeded to confuse them in her mad dash through the facility. His other assistants showed concern for her determination to speed past the more violent subjects instead of wait for them to be tranquilized.

Locklear didn’t feel any such concern in the slightest.

If Juice faltered or if he heard of her faltering, he would enhance her formulas. They helped her stay as swift and light-footed as she wished to be. They also ensured she did in fact rest. Her work became sloppy when she was tired.

After a year of her proving her worth in the facility, Cleo stopped trying to knock the smaller brownie off of Locklear’s other shoulder while they worked. Cleo carried her weapon, the massive stick she used on experiments who attempted to strike at her, and Juice vibrated with excitement. She was always excited for the day.

She was most certainly livening up his workspace, and he couldn’t see any cons in that fact.


	29. Dark Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terror comes in many forms, but the form of the child remains one of the scarier.

“Get what you need, then let’s get back home. Okay sweet pea?”

“Yes’m.”

The girl entered the convenience store around one in the morning. She went down the aisles, looking at the bags of candy and chips longingly. Sami said she didn’t need those though. She needed water and she needed fruits. Moving to the back, she retrieved bottles of water and juices and held them in her small arms. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass guarding the soda and myriad of other drinks, she noted that yes she had in fact washed her face well. She looked like a respectable young girl in a proper dress, ribbons in her hair and shoes properly buckled.

And yet, she also looked terribly out of place . . . a 1930’s child in a 2010’s store.

She left her reflection behind. Carrying the bottles to the front, she stretched to place them on the counter as the cashier started talking to her. “You going to a costume party sweety?” the girl asked.

“No’m,” she murmured as she grasped a pair of apples, a banana, and an orange, moving them over beside the bottles which the lady had already started ringing up. She had long ago learned to accept that her dress seemed strange to modern folk. She had no need to argue over that.

But the woman didn’t argue, fortunately. “Where are your parents?”

“Say outside,” Sami told her.

“Outside.” She eyed the stuffed animals that lined the wiring above the woman’s head. Valentine’s teddies, St. Patrick’s teddies, all manner of stuffed bears loomed overhead. One for every occasion.

“Would you like one?” Lamia shook her head. “Alright honey.” She read off the total, and the girl looked in her handbag for . . . .

Her wallet.

Her wallet was . . . .

“It’s gone!” Panic laced the words as she dug through the handbag. “It’s gone, it’s gone!”

“Now sweet pea, calm down,” Sami immediately stepped in mentally.

“What is it honey?” the cashier asked.

“My money’s gone.” Tears filled the girl’s eyes as frustration and worry surged upward within her.

“Remember to breathe Lamia.”

“Do you need to go outside?”

“No!” Why would she need to go outside?

“Remember the lie.”

“Get your parents?”

“Who?!” Lamia was beyond reason in her panic, heart pounding and her face burning from the tears.

“Sweet pea, you need to calm down.”

“Are your parents not out there?”

“Sami!” Lamia cried out, and the cashier looked to be panicking in her own quieter way now.

“Now isn’t the time, you need to breathe and think.”

“Is Sami a family member?”

“I . . . lost . . . .”

“Sweet pea?”

“Honey?”

“Lost . . . .”

“Lamia?” The cashier walked away, heading in the direction of the phone. Lamia’s eyes widened as she watched the woman prepare to dial. “Alright,” Sami declared in her mind, “now is the time. Get us out of here, darling.”

Lamia huffed, puffed . . . .

Then let out a piercing shriek that made the woman drop her phone. The lights flickered, power surging through the building. The teddies strung up over head all turned their heads towards the cashier, who went from staring in horror to screaming in terror. As the bears unhooked themselves one by one and proceeded to march towards the cashier threateningly, the glass that guarded the windows began shattering one by one. The cashier passed out, hitting the floor with a thunk and leaving the phone whirring off the hook.

Lamia ceased her shrieking and gathered the fruits and bottles in her arms and ran outside. Sami’s last request was for her to ensure she had shattered the cameras also.

“I’m sorry,” Lamia said, holding the stolen goods in her arms and crying as she wandered through dark alleys back home.

“We’ve been through this over and over, sweet pea. You have to keep calm and stay in control.” Sami sighed within her head, Lamia whimpering at the reprimand. “You’ll do better next time.” A silence fell between them as they made their way home. Sami’s final words on the matter were, “I don’t believe you’ve ever made anyone pass out before.”

That won the pair a smile from the stagnant seven-year-old.


	30. Locklear's Study: Gestation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Cleo's pregnancy with Juice.

“It's time for your checkup now,” he declared, coaxing Cleo from her slumber. She hissed at first, but lethargically conceded to being lifted and placed on the moving table. Setting her gently onto her back, he almost yawned in response to her weary expression. He withheld however. 

Pulling the strip of measuring tape from its roll, he encouraged her to sit up just enough for him to measure her belly. She had grown a centimeter in just a day. He hummed in thought, writing down a note in her journal. Setting the tape aside, he ran his fingertips gently over her round belly and felt for any changes. She whimpered, and he lightened his touch. 

Just as he began to pull away, he was greeted by a small kick. Cleo sighed in response to it. Locklear’s fingers froze on the spot, and he waited for more movement. Cleo, such a good girl, remained still even as she whined at the unborn child shifting inside her. Curious, he thought. Very curious.

Humming again, he encouraged Cleo to open her mouth. Placing a wooden stick on her tongue, he ensured her health as well as the infant's. Snapping his fingers beside her ears, they responded in kind to the sound. Shining a light in her eyes, her pupils also responded normally. He noted she was dehydrated simply by the color of her gums.

With that, he told Quill to retrieve Cleo some water. Pulling a small apricot from his pocket he placed it by her hand. She picked it up immediately, sitting up to eat it. She bit slowly, tiredly. As she ate, he ran his fingers over her back and felt her unsheathe and extend her gliders for him. As he inspected and saw they were in good form, he ran his fingers down her tail and concluded his examination.

Cleo munched away on the apricot, only groaning when Locklear picked her up gently and placed her back in her bed. Quill brought her a dish of water, and Locklear took a seat to watch her as she settled back into her home on his desk. When she finished her apricot, he took the pit from her palms and watched as she slumped back down onto her bed.

She hissed quietly, and he thought he understood.

“Thank you for your patience,” he uttered, watching her blink slowly as she leaned forward just enough for a long tongue to extend and lap at the water. She drank, movements growing slower and slower until her eyes were closed and her tongue was sticking out of her mouth even in her sleep.

He scratched her head then.

Cleo was a good girl.


	31. Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keoma has one more very confused, salty beast.

“Eggs?” Keoma had not seen the brownie in quite some time. “Where are you?” He resorted to calling for him in Portuguese, hoping the brownie would rear his head.

He did not.

It was starting to worry him.

He searched every room of the home before he thought to check the kitchen. For all he knew, the creature had gone in search of something to eat. Still, he did not see him in there. Where could the little beast have gone?

Did he take a few eggs and run? No, he could not have. Keoma would have found him sprawled out on the floor by now. With every egg shaped consumable in the fridge full of sedative, there was no possible way. 

Keoma sighed. After looking through every cupboard in the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator to see if anything had been taken.

And would have had a heart attack if he still had a heart.

“Bout damn time,” the brownie slurred.

“What are you doing in the refrigerator?” Keoma asked, a note of scorn strong in his voice. As he picked up the shrunken brownie, he cradled him to his chest. The poor thing was shivering, and his eyelids were drooping. “We are going outside.”

“It's light out,” Eggs whined.

“It's also warm out.” And Eggs was frozen. He could hear the thing's teeth chattering.

“Why'd you have to drug all my eggs? I could have escaped,” the brownie whimpered as he damn near passed out in Keoma’s arms.

“How many did you eat?” Eggs was drifting off, but Keoma shook him. Eggs hissed. “How many?”

“Three!”

“Which kinds?”

“Two hardboiled,” he yawned, “one chocolate peanut butter.”

Keoma sighed. Good. That was not a lethal dose. But still, he kept the brownie awake until he was properly warmed. Rubbing his limbs and back, he stimulated the brownie until he was no longer shivering from his entrapment.

Sitting on the porch, he considered finding a better hiding space for all of the treats he used to ensure Eggs actually slept. But knowing the brownie to be both meticulous and restless, he was likely to find them anyway.


	32. The Training of Dextra Liddell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dextra Liddell runs into Lola by some crazy random happenstance and learns that she can study magics far greater in power than her own innate abilities.

“Excuse me?” No answer. “Excuse me, Miss?” Dexy turned at the voice, surprised to find a . . . rather strange and blinding white rabbit woman following her. “Are you Dextra?”

Dexy turned fully toward her. “I am.” She wanted to ask who the other was, but decided she was about to find out anyway.

She was correct.

The woman reached behind her into the hood of her sweater dress and held up (of course) a small black creature. Dexy’s small black creature.

Fucking. Sinny.

Whose first words to her as he glared with flattened ears were, “I didn’t do nothin’.”

To which she replied with a glare, “That’s a double negative. You most certainly did something.”

Then came the inevitable list of the brownie’s crimes.

“One, he asked a dear friend of mine so many vampire questions that he had a fit and refused to lose his old poor man’s accent and Victorian vocabulary.”

“I just wanted him to say tallywags.”

“I told you to leave Gabriel alone.”

“Two, he stole gold from a local store to get my dragon friend high.”

“Our dragon friend, and he was enjoying himself quite a bit.”

“Sinistro . . . .”

“Three, he threw Tea’s tea out a window.”

“Now you’re just taking things out of context.”

“How? Why?!”

“Fourth and finally, he stole one of my books and allegedly gave it to you.”

“I—”

“Sinny,” Dexy held up both hands, “hush.” And the brownie did. Dexy took a deep breath, then stared at the white woman carefully. “Describe your book. Sinistro brings me a lot of things at a time. Usually,” she glared at her friend, “they are not stolen.”

“I was gonna give it back when you were done,” the creature’s whole body drooped and Dexy almost felt bad for getting short with him.

The woman answered, “It was a book on elementals and magic related.”

Dexy’s eyes widened as she reached into her knapsack. “This one?” she asked, pulling it out. It was a hardcover book, bound with a wood cover and pages made from nonstandard material. It was almost . . . natural. As if the book had been made by hand and given to someone. She stared at it, hesitating to return it to its owner.

“Yes, exactly that one.” Dexy’s features pinched as the woman tucked Sinny under one arm and held out a clawed hand for the young woman to hand over the property. When Dexy didn’t immediately hand it over, the woman’s hand slowly lowered. “Were you . . . studying it?”

Dexy nodded. “I wondered . . . if I could . . .,” she then shook her head. “No, it’s silly.” She shoved the book into the woman’s hand, forcing her to take it. “Give me my nuisance and we’ll be out of your hair. I’m very sorry—”

“Do you have an inclination to magic?”

Before Dexy could deny it, Sinny was crawling up her arm and very loudly declaring, “Yes! Yes she is!”

“Sinistro Liddell!”

“She’s a magical girl!” 

“Stop it right now!”

“Is he this jerkish all the time?” the woman asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Dexy answered.

“You say jerkish, I say supportive,” Sinny argued.

“Zip it,” Dexy declared, and Sinny finally listened as he made the exact sound of a zipper while closing his lips.

The rabbit eared woman stared for a long time, assessing the two. She seemed to be thinking as she held her book in both hands. After a long pause, she sighed. “I can’t believe I’m offering this but . . . if you have the inclination, you ought to learn with a teacher.” Dexy looked at her, nodding and accepting the advice. “Summoning is dangerous. Elementals are easy, but they are still demons and can still level mountains. If you go in without the right tools, you stand to lose a lot.”

Dexy had guessed that. “That’s why I haven’t tried yet.”

Another sigh. Then the woman held out a palm. “I’m Lola.” Dexy took her hand and shook it. “I’m very busy these days, old enemies and friends in need. I would love to teach you so you don’t hurt yourself,” Dexy’s eyes went wide, “but I would like to get to know you first. Just in case you turn out to be as unstable as your friend.”

Sinny groaned, but said nothing. Dexy stared at Lola for a long time. “You’re serious?”

Lola nodded. “Come study with me for a week and if I can work with you, I will do my best. What do you say?”

“Yes!” Dexy jumped at the opportunity.

“Alright then. We have an accord.”

Dexy was beyond excited. She had told Sinny (and this had been what had prompted the theft it turned out) that she would love to expand her knowledge and possibly learned defense. As it so happened, the best candidate for teaching her was in need of something as well.

A distraction.

And Dexy became just that.

\--

“You read a lot.”

“I write a lot too. I need to have both skills if I want to be any good.”

“You’re one of those English majors aren’t you?”

Dextra nodded. “English and any sub sequential major or minor that features writing. Needed to study my craft as much as possible if I was going to master it.”

And from what Lola had determined, she had just about everything. Control, quality, precision, Dextra was an exceptional oracle now that the cult had gifted her with a device that allowed her to determine when her prophecies came true. Lola could see why the young woman felt the urge to learn more. She was gifted.

She showed Dextra the basics. Start with a cleansed space specifically for magic. Keep a nonindustrial outfit on hand to wear when working in this space. Honor the elements and winds with either candles, stones, herbs, or a combination of all of the above. “Have you ever written an incantation for yourself?”

“I once cut myself and tried writing something in blood to make it come true.”

Lola pinned her ears. “Don’t ever do that again. Blood magic is unstable at best, and deadly at worst.”

“It didn’t work anyway.”

“Well I’m glad you focused on perfecting what did work.” She then instructed Dextra in keeping a tome of incantations meant solely for praying. “I know, I grew up Christian and prayer is dull, but it is essential. Balance and relaxation are everything in learning these things.” On that note, she added, “So if you ever feel tense, masturbate.”

“What?!” The fluster that bloomed on Dextra’s face was priceless.

But Lola was dead serious. “Just do something to release tension. Masturbation is just a healthy way to do just that. Now take this.” With that, she handed Dextra chalk and told her to repeat the ceremony of drawing out her prayer circle, laying out the ingredients, and creating an altar herself.

Dextra was a quick study and she was very good at following Lola’s sometimes off the wall tangents on theory. She appreciated her sometimes failed attempts to keep up. While Dextra was swift in practice, it took her a lot of repeats to know exactly why she had to perform things a certain way. Lola could hear her walking down the halls murmuring balance and serenity in rapid succession.

If it were at all possible for someone to force themselves to relax, she was certain Dextra had found a way.

Teaching her the basic ceremony of prayer and incantation had led her into learning the various stones and items that called to various lesser elemental demons. “In this pile you have fire stones,” she waved her hand over rubies and sunstones, “water stones,” she waved her hand over moonstones and pearls, “earth stones,” she waved her hand over onyx and jasper, “and air stones,” she waved her hand over amethysts and tiger eyes. “These are by no means the only stones, and some can be used for other elements as well. For the sake of example though,” she held her hands up and cut off her sentence. “I’ll give you a list of others to go on.” She then proceeded to gesture to other items she had gathered. “Each of these things appeal to an elemental, but ward off another. Can you tell me which does which?”

Dextra stared at the items: a conch shell, iron, petrified wood, chimes, glass, flint, and a few others. She pondered at first, but within moments she was categorizing them based on the element most closely related to that item. She included subcategories where a particular item was connected to more than one element, and then followed up her decisions by explaining them to Lola. When Lola stared at her for a prolonged amount of time, Dextra looked worried. “I’m completely wrong, aren’t I?”

Lola shook her head. “No, I’m just fascinated by the way you arranged the items. You’re not wrong.” She had arranged them at equidistance from one another. “If you favored a particular element you would have shown that favor in your layout. But,” she thought about it, “you seem to favor all of them. Or none of them.”

Dextra looked puzzled. “Does that mean . . . I can’t wield elemental magic?”

“Not at all. You could wield all the elements if you wanted to.” She could be a summoner . . . Lola recalled when she had performed similarly while Alulle was training her. She was hesitant to make that offer however. But . . ., “Would you want to?”

She could see her student thinking about it. Her brow always furrowed when she was in deep thought. She couldn’t help the release she felt in her chest when Dextra shook her head, couldn’t help the sigh of relief when the young woman declared, “I just want to protect myself. Escape if necessary.” She gave a shy grin. “Turn into a smaller creature and scurry off with Sinny if things get too heated.” She shook her head again, as if she didn’t think that were possible. “I don’t really want to be powerful. I just want to be powerful enough.”

The smile that curled Lola’s lips was radiant. If she hadn’t felt pride in Dextra before, she certainly felt it now. “I can teach you all those things. But first,” she waved her hand, “choose an element.”

This was the only answer that came to Dextra immediately. “Fire.”

\--

Dexy awoke the morning she was to meet Lola’s summon Flint to the sound of rapid tapping on the window. Her head was already aching, having fallen asleep going over all of the circles and sigils Lola had taught her the evening before. Rolling over, she stared out her window and saw nothing. Closing her eyes, she was again awoken by the tapping. Tap tap, it declared intermittently. Tap tap, the source always disappeared just as she opened her eyes. Finally she sighed and elected to keep her eyes open until she saw the source herself. Or at least, until it decided to stop and make her think it was strictly her imagination.

But then a red cardinal appeared, slamming beak and feet into the window. Tap tap. That wouldn’t have been so strange to her if it hadn’t occurred to her she had never seen a cardinal in this area before.

Also that the bird opened its beak and the words, “Open the goddamn window!” came spewing out.

Dexy nearly rolled out of the bed in her shock.

\--

“There’s a bird on you,” Lola declared as Dextra appeared at the edge of the woods for the summoning.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “His name is Rufus. Says he’s my familiar now.”

“You agreed to it,” the cardinal declared.

“What exactly did you agree to do to have a familiar?” Lola asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Feed me and keep me from going back to the boss,” Rufus answered bluntly.

“Really? That’s it?” Lola asked, eyes narrowed.

Dextra shrugged. “I already do it for Sinny. What’s a cardinal to a brownie who thinks he’s a boggart?”

Lola hummed in thought. It made sense that her budding apprentice would attract familiars. She had after all, Abaddon simply hadn’t allowed her to take any. She didn’t mind Dextra having a familiar so long as said familiar could do his job of furthering Dextra’s instruction well. “Well Rufus. Your witch is about to make a deal with a demon. How would you advise her?”

Rufus puffed out his chest. “Get the most out of it, and think before you shake hands. Demons are shady and have ulterior motives, so leave no room for loopholes.”

“You’re right, but you forgot to ask what kind of demon,” Lola pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re all shits.”

Lola pointed her finger at the familiar. “I like him.” Then she addressed Rufus again, “But you should consider being a bit more detailed. Vagueness is just as problematic as being overly detailed. How do you feel about your witch making a deal with a lesser fire elemental?”

The cardinal let out a chirp, then declared, “Why?!”

“I was training in elements before you came along.”

Rufus scoffed. “They don’t want anything conventional. Certainly not a soul.” The bird hopped closer to her face, beak tapping her glasses as he asked, “You do have a soul, don’t you?”

Dextra’s answer was hesitant. “Not . . . on me? At the moment?”

“Good, not like you can offer it anyway then.” Rufus hopped back to his original position. “They usual like simple human things. They live on the surface, but don’t get to experience humanity. So give them a human experience and that usually appeases them enough to come whenever called. If you want to establish a closer friendship, definitely offer something they can only get from you.”

“Like my writing?” Dextra looked to Lola with a smile.

Lola grinned. “Alright Rufus. You’re not useless.” He had covered exactly what Lola and Dextra had already discussed before introducing Dextra to Flint. Turning back to her student, Lola asked, “Are you ready to meet your second teacher and first summon?”

Dextra nodded eagerly. “I am.”

\--

Later that evening, Dexy recounted the meeting with Flint to Sinny. Before the deal had been made or the circle drawn, Lola had given Dexy a conch shell with sigils engraved on it. “This will help you calm him down if he shows up in a fit of rage.” 

“That happen often?” Dextra had asked, a bit intimidated by the thought.

Lola patted her shoulder. “He’s usually mad at another elemental. Don’t worry.”

As predicted by Lola, Flint had arrived screaming at another fire elemental without realizing said elemental had been left behind from whence he’d come. He then turned to Lola and Dextra and addressed them with a very casual, “Hello there, ladies.” He had been a lean, muscular being shaped entirely out of heated coals, flames burning within and without. Dexy had never had as difficult a time staring at someone. However, when one stands that close to an embodiment of flame and heat one can’t help but squint.

She had also felt she could get along with him immediately.

Lola had told her that was one of the most important parts of a first summon.

Flint had jumped on the opportunity to have stories written about him and his exploits (provided she always depicted him as winning somehow). Imbuing her pen with the magic to summon him, he told her to simply draw his summon on any flat surface and he would find her.

Showing off her scorched pen and conch shell, Dexy grinned at Sinny (and Rufus, who was sitting between Sinny’s ears). “I finally feel like a witch,” she said with a small giggle. After years of being convinced she should be one, she at long last felt it was true. “I’m actually doing this.” She not only mastered her oracle abilities, but was now in contract with a fire elemental who was going to help teach her pyromancy as well as shifting.

“Do you know what your animal is going to be?” Rufus asked.

“Isn’t it too soon to know that?” she retorted.

“It’s never too soon to ask the important questions,” Sinny agreed with Rufus. Rufus pecked his head in approval of the answer.

Dexy shrugged, but in all honesty she had already thought about it. “Dad used to call me weasel so . . . may as well become one.”

“Couldn’t have picked a better choice myself,” Rufus declared. “Weasels are witches in disguise, don’t you know?”

Dexy grinned. “Well, then it’s not much of a disguise.” Which was fine with her.


	33. A Father's Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argon Deets does not experience love in the human sense, but he does feel an obligation to his only daughters.

His daughters were beautiful. Strong. Intelligent.

Just like their mother.

He brushed the crystal in his chest. He could still feel her soul shifting within. He could still see her body swaying from the noose. He could still hear their daughters crying in the woods, far from the town that had hanged the only human he could have ever cared for. She had been utterly astonishing. He had followed her soul across centuries, millennia even, only to capture it once they had created something far more sacred than the magic she wove. In every life he had met her, she had not even needed his guidance to learn the power that lay within herbs, stones, and rituals. She had picked up the items and started using them and he . . . .

He had felt something. Perhaps . . . a need to . . . he had felt many needs. To have her. To take her. To make her his and his alone. To own her.

For a long time he simply allowed her to reincarnate, and then he would find her again. He would watch over her, care for her, enrich her life. Sometimes she was not a she, but a he. Sometimes a they. Sometimes she was a creature of another species entirely. But each and every time, she was his.

She was Bathin’s.

And it wasn’t until he saw her perish that day before their children, the only children he had ever had with her, that he had been determined never to see her life end. Grief and obsession had driven him to embed her trapped soul into his chest.

But she had turned him onto something he could not stop, and he refused to return to Hell now that he knew such people as herself existed.

She was the first and so she had been something special. Something perfect. Something pure. Her soul had actually been older than that body, the one that had born him daughters. His obsession with the mother had driven him to hide from his daughters. No matter how many lives he shared with her, he was always a wretched creature. He was always a horrifying, scaled beast. He was always deadly, too deadly to hope that his daughters may accept him. He had tried moving onto other souls before. None ever reacted to him quite as well as hers.

Their daughters were so clever. Fast. Survivors.

Just like him.

He knew he was cold blooded. He could never call what he had had with their mother love, even though she had said she loved him and he had said it back. Love burned. He had never burned. No, he had simply wanted. He had wanted her and only her.

Now that he had her with him forever . . . what was there to have?

There were others like her. Others that picked up stones, herbs, and latched onto rituals. None enraptured him the same way, but their souls . . . they strengthened him. They kept him well-fed. They provided him with what he had originally sought on this plane of existence.

Something to hunt.

It was both satisfying and disappointing to see that same urge in his daughters. They hunted. They feasted. They survived. But like their mother they loved. They wept. They expressed emotion he had no hope of understanding. They had never known him, and so they had never learned to feast on blood or souls. They took from markets, stole from stores. They hunted and cooked. They never sought raw flesh and fetid souls baked in sin.

That was what he truly craved. Souls. Blood. Flesh.

The more reluctant of his victims he would force a possession. His form was not always corporeal. He sometimes went so long without absorbing a soul that he couldn’t hold a form. He would fade and he would take control of a body.

And then he would hunt. He would hunt and he would feast on blood and flesh. He would swallow the souls and bodies of his victims.

He was fat from the beings who learned his brand of witchcraft, whether properly or improperly.

“Argon,” his familiar, the mourning dove Melina, whispered in his ear, “it’s time to move. This down is dangerous.” But his daughters were here. He must always know where they are. “There are other demons here. Ones who will take you back against your will.” He did not listen. “There are also other half breeds, they will be safe here. They will find a home.” But what if another group of hunters found them? Ruth and Hannah had only narrowly escaped the last town. “Argon,” Melina uttered the name his once companion had given him. The crystal hummed each time it was spoken. “There are people here who want you dead.”

He would not leave. Not even under that threat. “Then I will tread carefully.”

She did not like this answer. Nor did she appreciate his turning into a green anole and scurrying away from her before she could argue further.


End file.
